Bullfrog or Bullsh&t: How We Have More Control Over Our Joy than We Think

After a long, hot, and humid week, we had a series of strong thunderstorms and heavy rains here in upstate New York. A blackout sent me to bed early, so I cracked the bedroom window open to hear the night sounds of the insects in the woods.

A big smile broke across my face in the dark as I heard the croaking of a bullfrog. I hadn’t heard frogs in quite a while, it had been so dry that even my quarter-acre pond was mostly dried up.

I felt such joy, and I reveled in the joy of that bullfrog singing. How happy it must be to have all this water again! How happy I was to witness its joy. I got up and opened the window a little more to hear this lovely creature a little better.

Surprise.

Shock.

Dismay.

Anger, too.

That vague, joyful bullfrog song was no bullfrog at all. It was the muffled groan of my neighbor’s generator, a neighbor whose presence and behavior have challenged my peace ever since he moved in a little over a year ago.

How dare he destroy the beautiful night sounds of nature with his mechanical monstrosity! We’d been notified, after all, that the outage would only last a couple of hours.

And then, a switch turned on within me.

And next, laughter.

Lots of laughter.

I could not stop laughing!

When I thought it was a bullfrog, I was so happy.

When I realized it was the neighbor’s generator, I was not so happy. It brought up all the bullsh*t I’ve had to endure.

And the laughter was because the very same sound evoked two completely different responses.

And it was all in how I was thinking.

This was my Byron Katie moment of realization, except I wasn’t on the floor of a halfway house looking at an insect. I was in my bedroom, laughing about a bullfrog. Or what I thought was a bullfrog.

Bullfrog or Bullsh*t

To be joyful or not to be joyful, that is the question.

My neighbor has not been stealing my joy. I have been squashing my own joy, all in how I’ve been thinking about the situation.

While I can see that changes may need to be made—, ’m looking to move, I don’t need to be miserable in the process.

The shouting from his house: bullfrogs singing.

The kids’ dirt bikes revving: bullfrogs singing.

The lights lighting up my house and property all night long: more bullfrogs singing.

I can choose joy and write my own story.

Here a bullfrog, there a bullfrog, everywhere a bullfrog… singing.

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Photo by Steven Kirk on Pixabay.