The thing that called Happiness

I think my strongest memories begin in college. I don’t understand these individuals who remember sliding out of the birth canal, for me much of my life is shadows. It’s not the easiest thing to live with, as quite often I tend to feel like life just started for me, but it is what it is. The mind works in mysterious ways and does everything it can to protect itself I suppose, and some events can do far more damage if remembered and lived again and again.

College – the time when boys become men and girls women. The time when we begin to specialize and grow up. The time when we meet people from all walks of life. That first year was hell. The main problem was this – I hated life. In fact, I didn’t even realize I was alive. Not really. My life was one of pain and suffering. Heck, the only things I had loved were one cat which my mother had put to sleep to ‘teach me a lesson’ and then the cat that would later save my life – which my mother at one point threw off the balcony claiming that a particularly strong wind had managed to open the door, scoop up the kitty, lift it up over the solid porch railings, 6 inch ledge, for the two story drop (the cat lived). So it’s not like I had a role model for living.

And now, here I was with a roommate who just went on and on about how perfect her life was, how much her parents loved her, and how everything in the world needs to be flowers and ballerinas. Everything was pink and frilly and satiny and I hated her. I hated her because, well, admittedly she was obnoxious and not just by my standards but also, even if it wasn’t true, she portrayed everything I had wanted – solid family, the chance to be a little girl and princess, and a life that didn’t involve digging through garbage cans for dinner or living out of a car.

If emo was around in my day, I’m sure that’s what my friends and I would have been defined as. Dark and brooding we despised those who were ‘happy’ or talked about ‘fun.’ Couldn’t they see all the hurt out there? How could they walk past the homeless on the street as they made their way into a restaurant to laugh and talk and enjoy each other’s company? Where was the misery they deserved, and needed to recognize existed?

Of course at the time I just had never really experienced what it is to be ‘happy’ and despised anyone who did. Now I realize its usefulness. The stress of brooding and hating destroys the body – happy people live more. I’m all about life nowadays.

Albert Sweitzer once said that, “Happiness is nothing more than good health and a bad memory." I love that. My past has greatly colored my view of the world, which I chronicle in my blog. I’m fighting against living in those shadows and seeing the world through darkness. It never helped that the definitions of happiness are nebulous at best. Per dictionary.com happiness is, “good fortune; pleasure; contentment; joy."

One quote on happiness that really hit home for me is from Leo Buscaglia, noted professor and author. He stated that, “What we call the secret of happiness is no more a secret than our willingness to choose life." I think that explains why now I smile, and I don’t hate those who are happy. Happiness exists for a reason – and that reason is life. In all honesty when you need help, do you go to the person giving the world an evil eye or the one who’s smiling? People prefer to be around happy people, and the joy spreads from there. Happy people can help more than those wallowing in their own misery. I think a turning point in my life was recognizing happiness as a valid choice that I could achieve and that could help those people we ignore, but to do so, I first had to recognize I was alive.

Life is the toughest thing we’ll every have to face. When I looked at these people in college, I thought how easy they must have had life, and that’s why they could be happy. I tried to figure out how to recreate that – was it that they had more money than me? I mean, the people who always seemed to be smiling were the ones with a lot of money, look at Hollywood . Maybe it was the food they ate, or their clothes, or that they played sports. I became even more frustrated that as I was able to develop a lifestyle for myself that mimicked theirs – fancier clothes, real food not processed government cheese – I still wasn’t happy.

Which leads me to Albert Camus who said, “You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life." My focusing on happiness as some quantifiable object made it elusive. Plus, it had me doubting if I was really happy, or could be EVEN happier. Happiness is a life state. Now I’m amazed that if I think about it, I’m happy. And why am I happy? Because I am alive. Yeah, my health is okay, I have a good job, and I’m around happy people. But I don’t hate them or envy them, I just recognize them. And this very act of being in the moment and breathing in the life around me has somehow brought with it happiness.

So what is happiness? It’s the realization that you are alive. Also, the acceptance of happiness as a valid feeling. It’s like the sun that shines through after a storm, like hope which sprang forth from Pandora ’s Box to kiss away our wounds. Happiness is out there and won’t be found if you search for it, but only when you search for yourself. Happiness is just another part of life, just like the darkness I lived in for so long. And is life a struggle? Oh yeah, it isn’t for the weak. But with it come so many wonderful rewards, happiness among them.