Transcript
Advertiser 1 (0:00)
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Advertiser 2 (1:10)
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Jennifer Hickson (1:54)
This is the moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Jennifer Hickson. In this hour, the pursuit of happiness. It's a deep concept from our Declaration of Independence, our inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Scholars and lawmakers and regular citizens have debated the meaning of these words since they were first inked in 1776. In this hour, people pursuing their versions of liberty and happiness in ways unforeseen by the framers. For example, our first story is by a woman who turns to crowdsourcing to find her joy. Live from the Wilbur Theatre in Boston, where we partner with public radio station WGBH, here's Anne Guo.
Anne Guo (2:40)
Back in January 2014, I'm driving toward a hotel in Cambridge with a sense of dread in my stomach because I can't believe that I, a 38 year old professional Asian mother. I'm about to become a party crasher. And not just any party. It's the Goldberg Bar Mitzvah. This all started back in 2008, when my son was born, a time that should have been the happiest in my life. I was diagnosed with postpartum depression. All of a sudden, at work around the water cooler, I no longer knew what to talk about. Instead, I find myself smiling a lot, partly to hide how I was truly feeling inside and partly because I once read somewhere that the act of smiling will trigger happy chemicals to release in your brain. And I can tell you from personal experience that it's a load of crap. The depression lasts around two years or so, but it's not like after two years of darkness, I wake up the next morning and win the lottery. And the happiness and joy from winning the lottery fills up that big emotional deficit from last two years. Instead, I'm dragging around this deficit, this huge burden everywhere I go. And anytime I have a bad day and I'm feeling a little down, I would worry maybe it's coming back. Overall, life just felt kind of flat. And I couldn't help but wonder, is this my new normal? Will I ever be as happy as I once was? Now, by the time my son turned five, I said, all right, enough is enough. I'm going to have to do something about this. In fact, I'm going to print my own winning lottery ticket. It's going to be something that brings me so much joy and happiness, it'll fill up my emotional bank. Now, what could that thing be, though? I figured I'll look to my past for some clues. So I sat down at my kitchen table and made a list of all the most joyful moments in my life. And I look at it, and a lot of them involve going on silly adventures. So I said, all right. If that's what it takes to get back to tip Top shape, so be it. I declare the year 2014 to be the year of adventures, where once a month, I will make time and go on a venture. And to help me come up with ideas and also to help hold me accountable, I send a mass email to family and friends, making them a deal they can't resist. I said, look, you now have an opportunity to dare me to do whatever it is you want, provided that you donate money to my favorite charity. If I hit my donation target, I will do your dare, no matter what it is. And I dubbed the project Care Dares. And boy, did the dare start flowing in. I'm to walk 100 miles from Boston to Northampton, Massachusetts, without bringing any money or food. I'm to make a boat and float in it on the Charles River. And I'm to speak only Shakespearean English for an entire week. My husband Dan, who's Jewish, challenged me to crash a bar mitzvah, a coming of age celebration for a 13 year old boy. So as I'm pulling onto Memorial Drive, just minutes away from the hotel, I'm starting to experience some serious anxiety. Because if people ask me who should I say I am, I probably won't blend in with the Goldbergs. So I have to be related either through adoption or marriage. All right, so if a family had adopted a baby girl from China 38 years ago, you think they know who I am by now? All right, so that's out marriage. Maybe I'm just Uncle so and so's date. Or maybe one of the kids attending the party, I'm the stepmother. Or maybe I'll just ask the person to guess and just nod to whatever it is they come up with. My plan is to go in there, chit chat with a few people, maybe get on the dance floor for a song or two. If there's a limbo contest, there's usually a limbo contest. I might even participate. What I won't do, however, is eat or drink anything because I don't want to be stealing. On top of that, I bought a birthday present. It's just a small card game, but it's sort of my way to proactively atone for the transgression I'm about to commit. So with the plan all worked out, I step into the hotel. I figure I'll first do a walk by of the room to assess the situation. So after a long winding hallway, I see a large set of double doors. As I walk past, time slows down. I see five round tables. The one at 10 o'clock is populated with teen boys. I figured that's where my target is sitting. The room is brightly lit. Everyone is just sitting there quietly eating their dinners. Holy crap. There's no music, no dancing, no limbo contest. Totally unlike the bar Mitzvahs I've been to in the past. Legally, there's no way I can pull this off. Because if I walk in the door, all eyes will be on me. Everyone will hear what I have to say and I'll be instantly exposed. Abort mission. Abort mission. I speed walked back toward the hotel entrance and it took everything in me not to run out of door in that moment. Instead, I plop Into a large couch in the lobby, whip out my cell phone and pretend to be texting. Why am I doing this? I have no idea why. Take some deep yoga breath. I want to back out, but I can't because people donated their money to charity already. And then I remember Dan telling me, look, all you have to do to prove that you crash your bar mitzvah is to take a picture with a birthday boy. I think I may have an idea. I pick myself back up from the couch, go through that winding hallway, through the set of large double doors, straight toward the head table. Hi. How's everyone doing tonight? How's the food? I'm Ann from the catering department. A woman stands up, we shake hands and we chit chat a little. By the way, I have a present here. So who's the birthday boy? My plan is to go over there to that table full of teen boys, handle their gift, while one of his friends take a picture of two of us, and I'm out of here. Oh, the birthday girl, you mean? She's right here. It's a bar mitzvah. The girl equivalent of a bar mitzvah. I got the gender wrong. What else did I mess up? I'm just standing here. After I hand over the gift, she opens it up, looks at it, thanks me politely and puts it away. And I miss my opportunity for the photo and I can't figure out what to do next. Well, normally during these celebrations, there's music and dance. I have no idea. Why am I saying that? What I'm trying to do. I'm just trying to buy myself some time. Oh, this is just a dinner for all of our out of town guests. The actual party is tomorrow. What now? You told me I came on the wrong date and I'm crashing the dinner before the bar mitzvah. All right, let's just get this over with. Think, Ann. Where I'm from, if you take a picture with someone who's about to celebrate their birthday, it brings you good luck. I can't believe I just said that. It doesn't even make any sense. I cringe so hard. I'm just going to go home now, pay everyone back for their charity donations out of my own pocket. I don't even care. But that's when I hear her say, sure, of course. And I hand over my cell phone for the photo. On the car ride home, I'm flooded with a sense of euphoria. It's like I just escaped a near death experience. By December of 2014, I've walked across Massachusetts I've spoken Shakespearean English for a week, and I've also built that boat out of two pieces of plywood, and my maiden voyage only lasted 10 minutes because it started leaking. And after a whole year of monthly shenanigans, my emotional bank is magically full again, and I can't believe that I'm happier than I've ever been. Thank you.
