Can you remember a time when you last got SUPER excited?

Alright, I’m ridiculously late to the party, but I’ve been bingewatching literally EVERYTHING the VlogBrothers (Hank and John Green) make on YouTube, because I need the good feels these days and I’m also running out of steam with regard to, you know…hopes, dreams, ambition!

And four minutes of one of these nutjobs ranting about something desperately nerdy has me back on the…er, what does one ride other than a horse (it is well-known that I would not go near a horse)? Back on the…er… pig? That was the first animal that came to mind. I’m sure there are others, and now that I think of it, I feel like it’s never pig.

Now I can think of not a single other animal.

Anyway, I watched a video recently which was a feel-good montage of people being really, really, REALLY elated about all manner of things most people wouldn’t consider that exciting. Trains, Cheez Doodles, double rainbows, and what what. To get in the vibe, watch the video below – do it!

Are you not grinning stupidly? Is their unexpected joy not unexpectedly infectious?

So it got me thinking about when I last felt that way, and it was a tough one! The first memory that popped into mind was not of my own excitement (but resulted in pure delight in all in the room), and it was last Christmas, bellies filled with dinner, the extended family gathered around my ex parents-in-law’s coffee table, lazily opening presents. We didn’t think that our son could top the giddy reaction he had had upon seeing Julenisse’s (Santa’s) glowing lamp in the dark as he (she, it was his grandmother in the suit) approached the patio door. But somehow, he did! After his grandmother returned from her mysteriously long trip to the bathroom (which caused our kid some concern for her wellbeing), we drank wine and opened gifts. The child patiently waited his turn and, when he finally got the paper off, his body seemed to act before his mind realised what was going on, and it leapt in the air while his mouth tried to work out what words were again. He ran on the spot, laughed, whooped, laughed again, and then just shouted “Thank you! Thank you! I love it!” I had no fucking clue what it was he got, but finally learned that it was the Jurassic World Lego set with, I want to say, the velociraptor? I really should know, since I was the one who collected it from the store, but forgive me, it was Christmas, things are hazy. We had no idea he would be THAT happy, and as I leaned back on my floor cushion and sipped my wine, I thought to myself: “Yeah, it was totally worth elbowing three other parents in the ribs, spine and stomach to get the last box on the shelf. Suck it, other children who are probably crying because they only got the one with the stupid T-Rex fossil. NO RAGRATS”.

So I think the last time I whooped and leapt in the air like that, ignorant of the other humans that may be in the room with me was last year, the day before I was to travel home to see my family. See, I was, as I always am, living in visa limbo. Only for perhaps five minutes, when the moon aligns exactly with three planets you’d name your first child after, am I not waiting for the processing of, beginning the application for, or appealing the results of a visa application or renewal. I had applied for this particular visa almost one year before and, despite me living a total of over six or seven years in this country (or is it more? I seem to be hazy on all things stressful today), I got bumped into the ‘first time applications’ pile because now I was divorced and would be applying to stay based on the fact that my Norwegian kid sort of needs me to stay here, no longer because my Norwegian husband desires it (though my ex seems pretty motivated to ensure I don’t fuck off to South Africa forever).

But. My dad got sick. Some things can’t wait for ridiculous, senseless, red tape and paperwork. The embassies told me what to do to get back in the country if my visa didn’t arrive while I was abroad, but they didn’t exactly encourage me to go. My ex and I worked out a plan for him to bring our kid to SA if I were forced to wait there for longer while we did our best to push the visa through.

The morning before I flew out, I was de-stressing in the gym, and it was not working. I was tense, so worried that I would be separated from our son again (that story for another time), but I was frightened for my dad, and weighed up the pros and cons of going or staying. I paced. I lifted. I thought about kicking things, but I couldn’t be THAT gym-guy, so I held it together for the most part. I picked up my phone absent-mindedly every five minutes, just for something to do, and for one second a notification flashed and made me pause. “Melding fra Utlendingsdirektoratet” – “Message from the Immigration Office”. I’ve had this kind of alert before, and for the past twelve months the email only said, “Your visa application is still in the queue. We have a longer than average waiting period, check this link for new anticipated processing dates”. I didn’t dare imagine it said anything else.

I clicked it open. Ugh, another link to see what the letter was about. Ugh Ugh, use the coded ID portal to read it. OK, I’m in, now wha-

WHAAAAAAT! WHAAAAAAAT! WHAAAAAAT!

This was pretty much what I shouted to the mostly abandoned basement weights section at nine in the morning. Looking at my reflection in the wall-to-wall mirrors as I shrieked, I swear to god, I couldn’t figure out what that squeaking, bouncing Fisher Price toy was. It certainly didn’t resemble the cool, composed, not-shrieking person I had spent so much time pretending to be.

I had got my visa! At the ELEVENTH HOUR. The day before my flight, I was granted complete freedom to come and go, visit my family, see my son, come back to work, and not worry that I would be stamped with ‘Undesirable’ in my passport. I had the freedom of a European! This was nuts! It had been time-consuming, expensive, confusing and a bit rough dealing with all that divorce-related stuff and feeling like I was somehow suspected of being up to something shady during the process.

OK, so for some reason they only gave me a visa for 12 months (wtf, it’s usually 3 years), meaning I pretty much had to re-apply the very day I got it, but I HAD A VISAAAAA!

I shrieked, thought about doing a cartwheel, then remembered that I couldn’t do those, hopped up onto a bench, fell off because I’m not good at that either, did a little dance which I am EXCELLENT at, and then called my ex and shrieked more at him. It was as if I didn’t have any control of my own body, so powerful were the explosions of joy that were shooting from my skin.

Boy, did I smash that workout afterward, too. That much energy had to go somewhere.

So that was the last time I recall being so excited I wanted to burst. I will certainly think of more, and I do recall moments like getting the call from the adoption agent who said, “Congratulations! You are going to be a mom!” and I was so excited and stunned I couldn’t speak and kept shouting, “NO, NO WAY, NO WAY, NO! WHAT?!”, much to my ex’s frustration, being privy only to my part of the conversation. As the monkey in Tinga Tinga Tales says, “But that’s a WHOLE other story”.

I hope everyone has this sort of memory to light up this long winter, or keep the fuel burning a bit longer when motivation to keep working/being/dreaming/living can wane. They’re good feelings, and I guess we are very lucky to be these vessels of unhinged, beautiful emotion, though of course, visas are bullshit and so is nationalism and fuck having to prove your humanity to red tape robots.

Ah, shit, I just remembered I have a renewal due soon. Feck. Feck feckity feck.

OK, here’s a feel-good pop song to match the vibe of getting hippityhoppityclappityclippity excited about something (anyway, it’s on my workout playlist):