Pocketful of Happiness

I examined the coat in the mirror. It was beautiful, the kind of thing a princess would wear. My hands slipped into the, thankfully, very large pockets, where I felt something hard. I pulled it out—it was a leather-bound book, beautiful and old It was a thick book, and the pages were worn. I opened it and read the first paragraph. 

September 7, 1538

Today was boring, just like always. Mama tells me to keep a diary, and it will make life seem more interesting. I don’t believe her. But I’m going to try. But I don’t believe anything can make my life interesting; it’s just so boring.

Today Papa finally got a new horse, something he’s been needing for a long time. Unfortunately this means we won’t be eating much for the next few weeks. I’m going berry picking tom—

I slammed the book shut.

This was someone’s diary; it felt like an invasion of privacy to read. I told myself I’d give it to the salesperson, they could put it up in the book section. But when I bought the coat, I left the diary in the pocket. I told myself the salesperson would feel it in the coat—but she didn’t.

I don’t know why I kept the diary. Part of me wanted to read it, I guess. But I felt like I shouldn’t, like it would be invading on someone’s life. But then again, this person was dead…

I sat in my car and finished reading the entry.

I’m going berry picking tomorrow with Jamie, and I hope I find a good bush. If I don’t, it’ll be a hungry few weeks.

Anyway, I hope this was enough for Mama, because I’m not writing anymore today.

This one entry sparked my imagination, and soon I was thinking of the person who owned the diary. She was a teenager, with dark hair and darker eyes. She had an older brother who tormented her and loved her at the same time, and she felt the same about him. She struggled with the boringness of life, and longed for more adventure. 

I stopped imagining her when I realized that everything I had come up with was simply a reflection of myself. I literally put myself into her story. 

I realized that I knew absolutely nothing about this person. I didn’t know whether they were male or female, or how old they were, or how many siblings they had. I did know they had a Mom and Dad, and were likely younger because it didn’t seem like they were married.

September 8, 1538

Mama is making me write again. She wants me to write about my day. Well I went berry picking with Jamie, and we found a few good bushes. The next few weeks won’t be as hungry as I thought they were going to be.

I drove home, glancing at the passenger seat where the book rested. When I got home I took it to my room and rested it on my dresser and just looked at it.

What should I do with it? Maybe give it to a museum? Or maybe I could sell it and make lots of money. Or maybe… 

I picked the book up.

Maybe I could keep the journal and read it.

✵✵✵

The next day during my study hall I slipped my hand into my backpack and found the journal. I didn’t understand how it had gotten there because I absolutely did not remember putting it in my backpack, but I guess I had? Everyone else in study hall was absorbed in their schoolwork, so I opened the diary to the next passage.

September 10, 1538

Today Jamie and I went into the city, and there were some people playing music and some people dancing. I was watching when a really cute boy asked me to dance. It was so much fun! I hope I’ll see him sometime again, but I’m afraid he’s a traveler. Oh well. He was really cute though.

I smiled. This girl liked a cute boy too. I liked this girl, and for some reason, despite the wild differences in living, I related to her.

I decided to give her a name—Emily. I didn’t know if Emily was a name in 1538, but I liked it, so I decided to name her Emily.

“Emily.” I whispered to myself, and smiled. 

✵✵✵

Over the next few days of reading passages from the diary, I began to feel like Emily was my best friend. Maybe it was because I was reading her diary, but I felt closer to this girl who lived 500 years ago than anyone else I knew.

November 18, 1538

I hate to admit it, but Mama was right. Writing in a diary does make life seem more interesting. I’ve started loving life more. Simple acts like sewing and horseback riding are so much fun now!

I loved learning about Emily and the people in her life. She did get to meet that cute boy again—his name was Arthur; they became best friends. He seemed so like the boy—Jonathan—that I liked. They both had curly brown hair and blue eyes, and were tall. They were both sweet and kind and gentle. Arthur played the lute; Jonathan played the piano. I related to Emily and understood why she liked Arthur. Her friendship with him encouraged me to reach out to Jonathan, and we became friends too.

January 6, 1539

Yuletide is over, but life is so exciting now! Arthur and I kissed! We were just sitting there, watching musicians play, and it was snowing. Some snow landed on my head and Arthur brushed it off, and then I looked him in the eyes and he looked at me, and we just kissed. Oh, I love him so much! And one day we will be wed! And I will be with him forever!

I sighed. How lucky for Emily. She got to be with the love of her life—but wait. Why couldn’t I be with my love too? Jonathan and I had been good friends for a few months now, maybe I could ask him out.

The next day I asked Jonathan if he wanted to go on a date with me.

He said yes.

✵✵✵

As I read more and more of Emily’s diary, I began doing more. She wrote about her sewing, so I decided to learn how to sew. She wrote about riding horses, so I went for a trail ride. Arthur taught her to play the lute, so I asked Jonathan to teach me how to play piano. She wrote about baking bread, and even included a recipe, so I attempted to follow it. My first loaf came out of the over black and hard as a rock; my second was still very overdone. But my third loaf was perfect, and it tasted wonderful. 

I had never tried doing such things before, and I learned more about myself. I was terrible at sewing, but I did enjoy it. After horseback riding once I never wanted to do it again, but the experience made it worth it. As Jonathan taught me the piano, I discovered I had a talent for it, and for Christmas my parents got me a keyboard. As for baking, well, it was fun, but let’s just say the house started smelling like burnt food.

I began to find beauty in the simple things in life. The world seemed less mundane, but rather filled with simple magic. It was beautiful.

Emily’s life was beautiful. The journal ended on her wedding day; she got married to Arthur. I was sad that I couldn’t read the rest of her story, but I knew she’d be happy with Arthur. As I read the diary entry before her wedding, I cried. Emily led such a simple life and managed to find beauty and joy, even in her poverty. I was blessed with so much, but it only led to me wanting more. I tried to be more like Emily—that girl who lived so long ago, and yet taught me so much. She emboldened me, taught me to seize the day. 

Even as I grew old, I always kept Emily’s diary with me. Every time I tried something new, I thought that Emily would be proud of me. 

Sometimes I think back to the day I bought a beautiful coat and found an even more beautiful treasure inside the pocket—the pocket in which I found Emily, my dearest friend and life-long companion. The girl who lived 500 years ago, who taught me so much. She taught me to love life for the simple things, and to make the most out of what you have, and to be content. 

In a pocket I found Emily, and Emily taught me happiness.