Happiness
In my mind, I'm sitting on the old leather sofa, whose seams have long begun to give. I'm looking up at two concerned, loving faces, the faces of people who want so very badly to know if everything is all right, if their beloved son needs their help. Their question is one simple word.
"Why?"
And so begins the story.
"You see, a long time ago, I wanted to be happy. And so I pursued the things that made me happy, spent time with the people who made me happy, and tried to make the people who made me happy, happy as well. It goes as far back as trying to hedge all of my unhappiness against a glorious summer vacation, only to come away from it empty-handed; it was never enough. But as I got older, I realized that while the fun never seemed to last, and what happiness I found eventually gave way to the ever-growing, gnawing emptiness in my heart.
"And so it was that your son, who had grown up smiling brighter and crying harder than all the other children, so loved and protected, came to believe that for him, happiness might never be enough. And so he turned to something different. He would make the most out of his misery, and give back to a world which had given him so much. He was grateful, not thankless, and if he could not thrive in this world, he would at least make it a better place.
"His talents were few, and his challenges many. But he had naught to lose, and made his peace with the emptiness which consumed him. It would be his greatest ally, the true constancy that would push him through hardship, and suffer his struggles in his stead. For when you are already unhappy, a drop of sadness in your ocean could never stem the pull of higher purpose. He would rather fail, than settle for less.
"And it was not the sadness that changed. The most unthinkable, unfathomable force rose from some deep slumber, roaring to life within him. And the waves stilled, and the unreachable goal slid further along the horizon.
"...I guess, mom and dad, that I just want to try to be happy."
"Oh."
Their silence is understandable, ponderous, and necessary. He smiles helplessly.
"Why?"
And so begins the story.
"You see, a long time ago, I wanted to be happy. And so I pursued the things that made me happy, spent time with the people who made me happy, and tried to make the people who made me happy, happy as well. It goes as far back as trying to hedge all of my unhappiness against a glorious summer vacation, only to come away from it empty-handed; it was never enough. But as I got older, I realized that while the fun never seemed to last, and what happiness I found eventually gave way to the ever-growing, gnawing emptiness in my heart.
"And so it was that your son, who had grown up smiling brighter and crying harder than all the other children, so loved and protected, came to believe that for him, happiness might never be enough. And so he turned to something different. He would make the most out of his misery, and give back to a world which had given him so much. He was grateful, not thankless, and if he could not thrive in this world, he would at least make it a better place.
"His talents were few, and his challenges many. But he had naught to lose, and made his peace with the emptiness which consumed him. It would be his greatest ally, the true constancy that would push him through hardship, and suffer his struggles in his stead. For when you are already unhappy, a drop of sadness in your ocean could never stem the pull of higher purpose. He would rather fail, than settle for less.
"And it was not the sadness that changed. The most unthinkable, unfathomable force rose from some deep slumber, roaring to life within him. And the waves stilled, and the unreachable goal slid further along the horizon.
"...I guess, mom and dad, that I just want to try to be happy."
"Oh."
Their silence is understandable, ponderous, and necessary. He smiles helplessly.