Write Something Happy
There. I’m done. Please leave comments.
Kidding. Let’s see. Babies and puppies and kitties. Daisies and buttercups. Summer. Ice cream. Chocolate. Lattes. Rainbows.
Write something happy. Well, I was trying to think of the last time that I was genuinely happy, and it’s like trying to think of the last time some guy gave me the butterflies. And I realize that I didn’t get a single case of the butterflies with any of the three men I claimed to be in love with. I really can’t remember the last time I had the case of the butterflies. Mark Foster probably.
Well, the butterflies are nice, but they’re not necessary. Neither is happiness. Our culture is just obsessed with happiness as if it’s a right that we’re entitled to always and everywhere be gloriously freakin’ happy. I don’t recommend walking around in a cloud of doom like Pigpen, but the fact of the matter is that you can’t be happy all the time. It’s normal not to be happy all the time. Just because you aren’t grinning from ear to ear at every minute of the day doesn’t mean that you require a prescription.
Americans are obsessed with happiness and feel that it’s their God given right. The truth is that we’re not guaranteed happiness. No one is. We have an ancient document that says that we’re entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
Now, let’s set aside that life is not really a guarantee since we’re all going to die someday and this country doesn’t have universal health care. So, really poor people aren’t guaranteed much of anything. This blog post is not about that.
This blog post is about happiness. So, on Christmas day I was reasonably happy. I was well fed. I got some presents. I got to spend time with friends that I like. That was happiness, something that bordered on joy. But it was fleeting, as happiness is.
Contentment is an emotion that’s better sustained over time, and we all have the ability to choose how we are going to react to the life circumstances that we’re given. I choose, with occasional forays into the land of WhyMeGod (which we all have), to spend the majority of my time focusing on what I do have rather than what I don’t.
Most of the time I am content with my life. I have a job to go to that provides me with an income and a way to occupy my time and contribute to society. I have my computer and the internet. I have books. I have my subscription to The New Yorker (Thanks, Mom & Dad). I have friends, near and far away and all dear. I have a roof over my head. I put food on my table. And once in a while I see a glimpse of happiness. This makes me grateful to God from whom all things come for His bounty. I realize that I could be far worse off than I am, even in this country.
So, I guess that I can say that I am content to live the life I lead. It doesn’t mean that I do not want for more. Greedily, I do. But I am very glad to report that I live in a country which guarantees me the freedom to pursue my happiness. So, I’ll just put on my running shoes. I’m not much of a runner. I get side stitches. And I’m a fat chick, which slows me down. Every so often, though, I catch up with that asshole called Happiness, and I get to tap him on the shoulder.