In this moment, I cannot experience joy without terror.

It’s a beautiful afternoon here in Camas, WA. I just discovered one more beer after cleaning my fridge. I can go up to my happy place with my beer, my cell phone to listen to music, and soak up some sun. It brings me great joy to a wonderful afternoon.

Alas, my path to bliss is met with dark and terrifying obstacles. I noticed the Airbnb was booked last night. I saw them closing their doors and heard them repeatedly slamming the front door throughout the evening. Maybe they don’t know how doors work, or possibly they just want to make sure it actually closes—I can empathize with that.

My path to joy is a bit of a challenge. I have to pull down the door, pull out the legs to the ladder that leads to the attic, go into the attic to get to the crawl space, to reach the latch that opens the door, to climb the stairs onto the roof with my stuff to arrive at the roof.

What happens if the airbnb visitors see the attic is open and decide to close it?! How am I going to get out of there? Should I leave a note? Do I lean on hope that they are decent, courteous humans who recognize that the attic ladder is down and that someone … me … would be up there? That thought has paralyzed my choice into being only one answer: no, don’t do it!

I’m not looking for answers or suggestions; I’m well aware of all the options. I’m journaling to make note of my awareness of how my soul operates when I’m acutely aware that my actions can negatively impact someone else’s experience.

I am absolutely going forth, experience my happy place, soak in all the sun and joy while sippin on this beer and jammin to music. If it happens to me that I’m met with such a terrifying negative experience, I’ll figure it the fuck out.