Anyone who has suffered a major loss in their life will tell you they’re scared of being happy.

You’ve heard this, right? It’s not really fear of joy, it’s that all these people, all of us who have suffered loss or a tragedy of some kind, we remember the day before the loss, or we remember the ten minutes before the loss, or the second before the loss and we make distinctions. I don’t know if this is real or imagined but the moment before the loss, the accident, or whatever  happened: that was pure happiness. And all the moments after that: unhappiness. All the moments before: peace. All the moments after: chaos.

It takes a few months, or maybe it’s years, and the guilt of being able to feel happy again dissipates and then one day you realize you’re almost as happy, almost as calm as the day before the loss.

And then you feel fear.

I’ve heard it been described as: “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” And it’s semi-true. When life reveals itself as flimsy and uncertain, you begin to believe that after every high will come a low. You cross your fingers behind your back when you smile as if you’re telling the Universe that this smile is not real. You put air quotes around all your words: “I’m happy. ” You think you can fool the Universe into thinking you’re being ironic. And because you’re not “actually happy”,  nothing bad can happen.

But it doesn’t work like that. Bad things don’t only happen when you’re happy. Bad things also happen when you’re unhappy. And when you become aware that you can’t control a thing, then you’re basically afraid of it all.

It’s the uncertainty that’s scary. This is the reason I’m having a hard time with the events in Greece. This is the reason I don’t do well in the beginning stages of dating.  It’s probably the reason, life overwhelms me. I  don’t know what will happen tomorrow.

(How do we live like this?)

Except, we kinda know what will happen tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I will wake up and I’ll run errands, feed my cat, write and then play with my nephews. I’ll call my friends and we’ll spend a few minutes dissecting the latest episode of Gossip Girl. Then I’ll have dinner and read a book. I might even paint my nails. Colour undecided.

I am as certain as I can be about the way tomorrow will unfold. It’s next week or next month or next year that worries me. I keep wanting to crawl into the fetal position and rock back and forth crying, “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

But I stop myself. I stop myself because I’ve never known what will happen next.   When things are good, it’s exciting. When things aren’t good, it’s terrifying. That is the uncertainty of living. And my, what a redundant phrase that is. It’s just living, isn’t it?

I can’t control the uncertainty. I can’t squash, erase or ignore it. But I can trust that whatever happens next, I have the capacity to handle it. I am lucky. I have a home, family and friends. I have an education that can’t be stripped away and I have ambition that may wane but it never quits.  I am lucky. I still have the luxury of pursuing my dreams. It’s gotten harder, it might get harder still, but it hasn’t become impossible.

Instead of rocking back and forth in the fetal position cry-hiccuping about this thing I call uncertainty, I can get up, hug myself and carry on; wakefully aware I can at least be certain about uncertainty.

Granted, it’s not a comforting thought, but it is a liberating one. It begins the process of letting go.

A friend told me that when she met me three years ago, I wasn’t comfortable with living. It was like I’d dug my heels into the sand and refused to move unless life promised me it would all be OK.

I’ve been changing . I’m getting closer to flowing. And by getting closer to flowing, I mean I’ve jumped into the gushing river. But still, every now and then I grab onto a heavy branch sticking out from the embankment and I hang on for dear life. I will not go down this river! This river is scary, yo! I defy currents! I defy gravity! This branch will be my home. I will grow old on this branch. I will write a masterpiece on this branch. I will meet the love of my life on th-

It’s then while clutching on that branch  that I turn around and notice life flow by. (I’m not going to lie, I also see a hot guy floating on his back seeming to enjoy it all.)

And because I’m growing, because I’m certain about uncertainty, because my arms are growing tired by hanging on I say: “I have no idea where this river goes, but I’d really like to find out.” I take a deep breath, and I just let go.

Again.

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For a big-time reader and small-time writer, my vocabulary is rather poor. Don’t get me wrong, I know a lot of words, it’s just that I find I don’t know their definitions all that well. A few years ago, I stubbornly argued with a friend that he’d used the word opaque ALL WRONG.

“Do you wear stockings?” I said and before he could reveal a secret fetish I probably didn’t want to know about, I continued, “You don’t! I’m a woman and a writer! I think I know that opaque means transparent.”

I would have argued my point to my dying breath had it not been for his Blackberry, and Google. He shoved the definition in my face.

Opaque: not transparent.

Oops.

There are other words that I kind of understand. Like obtuse. I understand it in context but if you asked me to define it, I’d stare at you with a faraway look in my eye. (I just looked it up and get this. It means: difficult to understand.)

Dear Obtuse, You’re obtuse. Love, Eleni

And until about a month ago, I didn’t really understand the word integrity. I understood it when people used it to describe people and I knew that it had something to do with morals.

Then I found this definition while reading a book: Psychologist Erich Fromm describes integrity as “a willingness not to violate one’s identity.”

I finally got it. And when I say I got it, I mean my brain opened up and the word slipped inside and the doors slammed shut behind it. It’s now forever locked inside me. Plus, I can now say with utmost confidence that the icky feeling that spread through my body sometimes is the result of violating my identity. Score!

And while I do have strong morals that make me a good person overall, my goodness usually serves others better than it serves me. The way I behave to myself has, for the most part, lacked in integrity. This is my attempt to change that.

The 5 Commandments of Integrity

#1 Thou shall not violate my identity for love

Every time I have let a man into my life and have moved at his pace because I’m afraid of losing him at mine, I have violated my identity. I should care more about violating my identity than losing some guy that doesn’t get my identity

#2 Thou shall not violate my identity for success.

As a self-published author, I read a lot of blogs of other self-published writers. They use different promotional tools to get large amounts of people to give them five-star reviews on Amazon and Goodreads. I’m not going to lie, there have been times when I’ve thought of employing the same means. But when I think of it, I die a little inside. I may only have five reviews on Amazon and other writers have hundreds, but at least I can guarantee that mine are genuine.

#3 Thou shall not pretend to be someone I’m not.

I’m an introvert through and through. But for a long time, I would go to great lengths to be an extrovert. This usually involved saying yes when I wanted to say no. When I had the good sense to say no, I’d feel like a failure. It didn’t help that my friends would joke that I was like an old woman. Next time someone calls me that, I shall say: “You mean I’m wise and I know my limits? Then absolutely! I’m totally an old lady!”

Which brings me to…

#4 Thou shall not blindly accept OTHERS’s definitions of me.

Branding experts tell you that you need to define your brand clearly before someone else does it for you. Because someone else will do it for you and you might not like it and then you’re stuck with an identity that isn’t you. For a long time, my brother and sister called me a brat. I believe it’s a common name for the youngest child in a family. This name followed me for years and I couldn’t get rid of it. I believed that I was a brat and so then I indulged my inner brat and became a brat.

I’ve got into the habit of reflecting on definitions that others have thrown on me without my permission or even my awareness and if they don’t fit, I chuck them out. I will not let anyone’s perception of me violate my identity.

#5 Thou shall be unapologetically Eleni.

I’m open to growing. I’m open to having my beliefs challenged and I’m open to exploring new things. So there is no need to apologize, prove, explain and rationalize who I am and what I like to myself or others.

How do you make sure you don’t violate your identity?