Mike and I don't go out much, so he seemed excited when an opportunity arose. A marketing company near the cancer center hired me to play my violin for an entrepreneurial workshop event. I'd make $94 for an hour (a rate suggested by a music union), but Mike and I would also get a free meal at the closing dinner!
I can't play long before the tumor at the base of my skull comes to life, sending aches and sharp twinges up and down my spine. This usually happens when I hold my violin for too long, but despite that, I felt eager for the gig and resolved to press through the pain—even if it lasted days after. I'd play, stay the night, and then Mike would bring me to get cancer treatments the next day. (Hey! Anything that distracts from infusions is a big deal.)
"Come sit by us. I insist," the event's organizer said after I'd finished playing. On our trek to her table, she watched several guests compliment my playing, and I felt grateful for their words. I'd initially worried the woman hired me out of pity, but at least she knew people had enjoyed it (hopefully!). The thing is that nobody wants to be pitied. Before the terminal cancer diagnosis, I fiddled with various bands, and I felt so capable. In control... But I avoided playing alone unless hired for a wedding or a funeral. This gig just seemed like an odd fit. Who wants to hear a lone, somber violin at an upbeat business dinner? Maybe she hired me, hoping to help financially without being obvious.
"Come sit by us. I insist," the event's organizer said after I'd finished playing. On our trek to her table, she watched several guests compliment my playing, and I felt grateful for their words. I'd initially worried the woman hired me out of pity, but at least she knew people had enjoyed it (hopefully!). The thing is that nobody wants to be pitied. Before the terminal cancer diagnosis, I fiddled with various bands, and I felt so capable. In control... But I avoided playing alone unless hired for a wedding or a funeral. This gig just seemed like an odd fit. Who wants to hear a lone, somber violin at an upbeat business dinner? Maybe she hired me, hoping to help financially without being obvious.
Anyway, after starting on our food, the table's conversation surprised me and Mike. "So what IS happiness, John?" a woman asked, her skin perfectly accented against a tight yellow dress. John took a moment to respond, though, and the woman finally placed her hands together and impatiently clacked her fake red nails. I loved her yellow dress and red nails. She looked darling, even if it was a bit like mustard and ketchup.
"I'm not sure I know what happiness is," he replied. "But I'm saying that America scores pretty low compared to other countries. We've dropped 15%."
"Who's the highest anyway?" She persisted. "Which country is the happiest?"
"I believe it's Denmark," he said.
Ironically, I've looked into this and couldn't help jumping in. "I've been studying happiness too. A report I saw for 2024 said Finland scored the highest, but these reports are all so subjective. I'd love to find out which factors they used in the report you saw." I cleared my throat, suddenly aware that everyone at the table looked at me. It's been a long time since I've been in a work environment like that because I spend most of my days resting at home, hanging out with my family, or getting scans and treatments at the cancer center. "I could see Denmark being the top country, though." I didn't want to discredit what he'd said.
"You've been to Denmark?" Another man speared some lettuce and peered from me to Mike.
"Oh! No. Just pictures. It looks pretty amazing, though."
The event's organizer, Susan, chimed in. "Elisa would be a great person to speak on happiness. She has cancer." She glanced at me as if silently asking to go on. I nodded. "Doctors initially gave her two years to live, but she's lived longer than expected. And she's still somehow remained happy. What would you say your secret is?"
The room closed in on me, and the throbbing in my neck seemed even more prominent. I'm unsure why, but I felt incredibly embarrassed sitting with all these fancy business people. Why had I joined the conversation, and what could I possibly add? Should I say how happiness is so different from joy?
"I'm not sure I know what happiness is," he replied. "But I'm saying that America scores pretty low compared to other countries. We've dropped 15%."
"Who's the highest anyway?" She persisted. "Which country is the happiest?"
"I believe it's Denmark," he said.
Ironically, I've looked into this and couldn't help jumping in. "I've been studying happiness too. A report I saw for 2024 said Finland scored the highest, but these reports are all so subjective. I'd love to find out which factors they used in the report you saw." I cleared my throat, suddenly aware that everyone at the table looked at me. It's been a long time since I've been in a work environment like that because I spend most of my days resting at home, hanging out with my family, or getting scans and treatments at the cancer center. "I could see Denmark being the top country, though." I didn't want to discredit what he'd said.
"You've been to Denmark?" Another man speared some lettuce and peered from me to Mike.
"Oh! No. Just pictures. It looks pretty amazing, though."
The event's organizer, Susan, chimed in. "Elisa would be a great person to speak on happiness. She has cancer." She glanced at me as if silently asking to go on. I nodded. "Doctors initially gave her two years to live, but she's lived longer than expected. And she's still somehow remained happy. What would you say your secret is?"
The room closed in on me, and the throbbing in my neck seemed even more prominent. I'm unsure why, but I felt incredibly embarrassed sitting with all these fancy business people. Why had I joined the conversation, and what could I possibly add? Should I say how happiness is so different from joy?
Happiness is fleeting, ephemeral. But the etymology of "joy" is synonymous with "persevere"! You DECIDE to embrace joy. You VOW to enjoy life. You don't only appreciate things when they're good; you unashamedly embrace gratitude and appreciate everything. It's a way of life.
Mike must've seen my panic because he wiped his mouth and said, "Elisa finds the good in everything. Is that what you'd say your secret is, sweetheart?"
I nodded, so grateful for him. "Actually, yes. I think that's it. Gratitude. For everything. The good and the bad."
John seemed completely lost in thought. "The report that scored Finland highest... Do you know which variables they factored in?"
I took a deep breath and plunged in again. "They asked participants how 'perfect' their lives are. They'd select a number from 1–10, and most people in Finland said '6.'" Mike smiled at me with so much love, always giving me courage and hope. It feels as if he's always proud of me, whether I'm simply making it to treatments or joining unusual dinner conversations. "A different study combined three things: health, income, and equality, but that report said the main factor that impacts happiness is health."
"And you disagree?" the condiment woman said.
"Well, I guess... Maybe I do."
"It all sounds a bit trite to me," she replied. "What is happiness anyway? For me, it's attaining my career goals. If I've reached my goals, I'd say I'm happy. They go hand in hand. But I'm still working on myself. I'm not even a 2 on a scale from 1 to 10. I'm not happy where I'm at. Not yet. So what is happiness to different people? That's the real problem. It's about attaining their own goals. And health would always impact that. It prevents people from reaching their goals. So it should be a main factor."
A man who'd remained quiet suddenly spoke. "We're so different!" he said with a laugh. "You want to climb the ladder, but happiness to me would be retirement. I just want to stop climbing and rest!"
Slowly, the conversation moved to different topics, and I didn't say much afterward. Instead, Mike and I listened to people around us, and we held hands under the table. When I quit working in 2023, I cried, thinking I'd miss the atmosphere, but sitting at that table, I realized I'm grateful for the new season I'm in, even if doctors say it's the Sunday of my life.
A few days later, I shared this conversation with our two youngest kids: Trey (15) and Indy (14). "I think people miss the point," Trey said. "Happiness is looking at the problems you have and fully accepting where you're at and who you are."
Indy nodded. "It's enjoying your life. Enjoying what you have, no matter if it seems good or tough in the moment. We're lucky to even be here."
Mike must've seen my panic because he wiped his mouth and said, "Elisa finds the good in everything. Is that what you'd say your secret is, sweetheart?"
I nodded, so grateful for him. "Actually, yes. I think that's it. Gratitude. For everything. The good and the bad."
John seemed completely lost in thought. "The report that scored Finland highest... Do you know which variables they factored in?"
I took a deep breath and plunged in again. "They asked participants how 'perfect' their lives are. They'd select a number from 1–10, and most people in Finland said '6.'" Mike smiled at me with so much love, always giving me courage and hope. It feels as if he's always proud of me, whether I'm simply making it to treatments or joining unusual dinner conversations. "A different study combined three things: health, income, and equality, but that report said the main factor that impacts happiness is health."
"And you disagree?" the condiment woman said.
"Well, I guess... Maybe I do."
"It all sounds a bit trite to me," she replied. "What is happiness anyway? For me, it's attaining my career goals. If I've reached my goals, I'd say I'm happy. They go hand in hand. But I'm still working on myself. I'm not even a 2 on a scale from 1 to 10. I'm not happy where I'm at. Not yet. So what is happiness to different people? That's the real problem. It's about attaining their own goals. And health would always impact that. It prevents people from reaching their goals. So it should be a main factor."
A man who'd remained quiet suddenly spoke. "We're so different!" he said with a laugh. "You want to climb the ladder, but happiness to me would be retirement. I just want to stop climbing and rest!"
Slowly, the conversation moved to different topics, and I didn't say much afterward. Instead, Mike and I listened to people around us, and we held hands under the table. When I quit working in 2023, I cried, thinking I'd miss the atmosphere, but sitting at that table, I realized I'm grateful for the new season I'm in, even if doctors say it's the Sunday of my life.
A few days later, I shared this conversation with our two youngest kids: Trey (15) and Indy (14). "I think people miss the point," Trey said. "Happiness is looking at the problems you have and fully accepting where you're at and who you are."
Indy nodded. "It's enjoying your life. Enjoying what you have, no matter if it seems good or tough in the moment. We're lucky to even be here."
Trey sighed, obviously thinking deeply. "Mom... It's really hard that you have cancer. When we found out you were sick, that was the worst year of my life," he whispered somberly. "But now we're facing it. We're still together... And we're deciding to be happy despite everything. It's a choice."
I puffed with pride because their answers didn't involve the future or some far-off hope or unattainable dream. Instead, they spoke about living in the present, appreciating what each of us has right now, and being grateful to even be alive.
Top (left to right): Mike and Elisa
Bottom (left to right): Trey, Ruby, Sky, and Indiana
Service Dog: Artemis
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