By Janine Stafford, News Correspondent

I’m happy.

It’s the first time I have been able to say that with conviction in quite some time, and I’m saying it in print so I don’t forget. So next time I think, with a melodramatic sigh, that things are crumbling around me, someone can point to this sentence and tell me to shut up.

Let’s rewind to about two weeks ago – I was sitting in a hotel in New York, brainstorming ideas for my next column. I had been traveling nonstop, was fighting with two very important people, and it was pouring. I’d sworn to a group of acquaintances the night before, after what was perhaps a few too many margaritas, that I was “giving up” on men for Lent – and I meant it. My outlook on life was as dingy as the slushy snow on the sidewalks of Manhattan.
I was stuck in a routine of drowning myself in work and sleeping through every spare second I had. When I was awake I was unpleasant, unclean and unenthused – what a catch, right? I was worn down– I couldn’t even get through looking for a parking space in the city without breaking down in tears. (And I used to have such great parking karma). That’s when I decided to self-medicate. Not with drugs or alcohol, but with things I knew would make me feel better, like getting out of the city for some fresh air, seeing my family and taking care of myself.

But this “reflect and relax” binge made me realize one thing:  I was lonely.

It’s not like I’m looking for a boyfriend or my life partner or anything serious like that. But as I disconnected myself from everyone in an effort to avoid spreading my plague of negativity and selfishness, I had no one to turn to, no one to hold my hand when I was nervous or to offer making dinner when I didn’t have the time. In an effort to make up for my lack of social life, I was working myself to death, taking on a handful of projects at a time and acting more selfishly than ever before. After some thinking I realized this was not the way to cure my loneliness. In order to have people around, I had to let them in.

So I started apologizing to the people I’d treated unfairly in the past few weeks. Miraculously, a very nice boy, who I had not been very nice to, was forgiving. I had really been an asshole, and as hard as it is to admit that, it felt good. He’s a boy I want to keep around, one who keeps me sane while driving me a little crazy (if you know what I’m saying). So I promised myself to make an effort to be more courteous:  less complaining, less texting, Blackberry messaging and e-mailing when with friends and more listening and adapting to the people around me. It isn’t rocket science, but some of us are slow learners.

I tested my findings this past weekend, and I’ve got to say, things are working out just as planned. I downplayed my “type A” characteristics and tried to go with the flow; I barely checked my Blackberry all weekend and I even volunteered to make pancakes early Monday morning (something I never do). My efforts were certainly a nice push for the flowering relationship, but I’ve realized that’s not really what matters. Ultimately, I’m happy with myself. I am proud of these baby steps, and while the springtime weather might be largely responsible, I already feel a huge change. I’m relaxed and content and I have someone who will tell me everything will be OK when I need to hear it. If that’s not happiness, I don’t know what is.

– Janine Stafford can be reached at [email protected]