There seems to be the idea going around that I’m not happy. I don’t want anyone to lose any money on any bets, so I’ll try to make this easy; I’m totally not. I don’t know if anyone is cheering in the back (and if you are, you’re a dick), but I’m going to continue. I have a lot of secrets, ones that no one knows. I don’t have a lot of friends, and I’m not dating anyone. My education isn’t what I wanted, and my relationship with my family is spotty at best. I have no plans, no one to lean on, and no place to call home. I’m unhappy.
It seems like a lot of people are anxious to point that out. For example, I’m unhappy with the University of Arizona, so I will be moving home and return to my long, lost ASU. I don’t know where that came from, but it’s false. And it’s not just me. People all the time are eager, happy even, to point out the unhappiness of others. Of course, this begs the definition of happiness. Everyone has thoughts about on the topic: some will say it’s a nice car (and I’m inclined to agree, to an extent), but others will motion for children and family life. Still others call upon travel or public service as their means to sanity and joy-funny how those are mixed up together. Of course, there is also that rarified group of people that are under the impression that their own happiness comes from them alone. It’s a quaint idea, but it’s far too small. Saying everyone is different is just saying that everyone is the same.
It’s a little bigger than we presume, I think, this happiness thing. Like everyone, I’ve my own thoughts on the topic, but also like everyone, I express them far too often. I do love a good movie, though, any kind, and place, any theatre-mine or yours. During a movie, the viewer is the film, and they share in that happiness, which I have come to define somewhat more broadly. I apply this idea to a larger scale in my life, and everyone becomes part of my movie. A smile at the store is a smile back to me at the end of the day from the little, old lady who shopped there hours before and is still shlepping back home. Answering a phone call from your crying best friend is a weight off the world that you no longer have to face. See, whether we like it our not, our actions, our words, and our feelings find their way out there.
By common definition, I don’t meet the happiness standard. I know a lot of people seem to think they can root down to my flaws and my secrets; I know this because they like to giggle about them when they assume I cannot hear them. I read lips, my friends, and I invite you to read mine: I’m happy. Happiness isn’t an emotion, rather it’s a state of life, which is filled with sadness and depression, but also trips out late to the desert and first kisses (puppies, cotton candy, etc.). We need to take care of ourselves by taking care of one another.
“So go on, if this will make you happier, it got you this far, do what you have to.”
I miss the show, and I miss the song, even though I’ve never met either of them. More later.