Somewhere in my basement is a box of treasures from my childhood.  A doily crocheted by my grandmother,  a poetry project from sixth grade, a wallet from my dad’s foray into leather-tooling, a doll dress my mom sewed by hand.  In amongst them, (I assume though I haven’t looked through the box since our last move in 1999), is a red autograph book I was given for my eighth birthday. 

 My friends and I all had these little books and we would sign one another’s with poems and jokes, trying to sound wiser and worldlier than the children we were.

“Tulips in the garden! Tulips in the park! The kind of tulips YOU like best is TWO LIPS in the dark!!!”

 None of us had yet moved into the world of kissing “for real” but we could see the humour and frankly couldn’t wait to grow boobs, get periods, and kiss boys. 

 I would have tossed the book long ago but for one special entry in that distinctive cursive of one who went to school long before, when handwriting was taught as a discipline reflective of character.  Dear old Mary, a friend of my mother’s mother – the link to a grandmother who’d died before I came along.  I remember her delight when I asked her to sign my book, as if it was a great honour to be included.  She paused thoughtfully and then wrote:

 “Those who spread sunshine into the lives of others cannot keep it from their own”

 I took that phrase to heart and think of it often.  Of course, I now know it is a paraphrase of Scottish writer James Matthew Barrie’s work but the sentiment is more important than the exactness of the quote.  I took it to my young little heart and did good deeds in earnest, knowing my own life would be better for it. Just by smiling at a stranger, I’d feel happiness back.

 Ah but careful, careful there little one.  The mind is tricky, and will start to keep score.  It quietly takes stock of every time you give more than you receive and lays a thin, gossamer layer over your heart.  Eventually those layers build to a film that grows so gradually you hardly notice the change, but it’s there.  Your smile feels brittle, your heart aches but you don’t know why.  You grow bitter, and you know it’s wrong so you tamp it down and hide it under more smiles and achievements.

I can see it now, how I let that happen to me.  I became an approval junkie, a sunshine whore.  I barfed freakin sunshine all over the place in hopes some would splash back on me.

I took a lovely notion, a truly sincere sentiment from a dear old lady and warped it with my mixed up mind.  I couldn’t see it for most of my life and considered myself beyond criticism because – what?  You’re going to criticize me for all the selfless good I’m doing?

I am still reeling from the recent lessons learned about expectations and resentments.  I sit and write this now with my sobriety goggles firmly in place.  If you do good things with the expectation of return on investment, you’ll eventually be disappointed.  Continue that behaviour long enough and you’ll have yourself some nice resentment brewing.  Throw in a box or two of wine per week and you’ll be…well, see my first few posts.

 That said, I still believe in the power of sunshine.  I know dang well old Mary had it right.  I see it here, in the feedback from this blog.  I see it in others who bless me with their kindness.  I know it in my heart; I just have to trust that it’s true without holdings expectations.