Happiness
A few weeks ago I had a conversation about happiness. I had it with the most profoundly unhappy person in my life and she asked me if I really thought anyone on this planet was happy at all. I think that's a pretty loaded question. I mean, what does being happy mean for each of us? If we can't achieve what we think will make us happy, can we still be happy doing something else? Elsewhere? With other people?
I think what makes people unhappy the most is when their lives don't turn out the way they planned. There's suddenly no white picket fence, there's droopy chicken wire and rotten fence posts instead. Can we be happy with chicken wire and rotten fence posts? Are we set up for that?
Little things make me happy. My horse makes me happy. The way his head snaps up when I call him, as if, regardless of what he's doing, he's been waiting for me since I left him the day before. I am his sun. He is mine.
Sometimes, when it's hot out, it smells like baked dirt and dry grass. It smells the way Manitoba used to smell and that makes me happy, too. Getting up early and watching the sun rise makes me happy. Seeing my best friend smile makes me happy. Hearing her laugh makes my heart sing.
But when I'm at home and alone and thinking, am I happy then? Am I, having been in therapy for close to a year, occasionally depressed and so sad that it hurts everywhere, happy? Do I have to count up all my happy moments and all my sad moments so I can compare them? Is the underlying current of my life happy?
I don't know. I could be happier. I could also be sadder. I'm happy I'm not sadder. I'll work on being happier. If I can't be happier, I'll be happy that I'm not sadder. Does that make me happy? It makes me happier than people who are sadder. I'm happy about a lot of things though, so I think that's good.
I think what makes people unhappy the most is when their lives don't turn out the way they planned. There's suddenly no white picket fence, there's droopy chicken wire and rotten fence posts instead. Can we be happy with chicken wire and rotten fence posts? Are we set up for that?
Little things make me happy. My horse makes me happy. The way his head snaps up when I call him, as if, regardless of what he's doing, he's been waiting for me since I left him the day before. I am his sun. He is mine.
Sometimes, when it's hot out, it smells like baked dirt and dry grass. It smells the way Manitoba used to smell and that makes me happy, too. Getting up early and watching the sun rise makes me happy. Seeing my best friend smile makes me happy. Hearing her laugh makes my heart sing.
But when I'm at home and alone and thinking, am I happy then? Am I, having been in therapy for close to a year, occasionally depressed and so sad that it hurts everywhere, happy? Do I have to count up all my happy moments and all my sad moments so I can compare them? Is the underlying current of my life happy?
I don't know. I could be happier. I could also be sadder. I'm happy I'm not sadder. I'll work on being happier. If I can't be happier, I'll be happy that I'm not sadder. Does that make me happy? It makes me happier than people who are sadder. I'm happy about a lot of things though, so I think that's good.