Once upon a time; in a galaxy far, far away (more specifically, the Valley); a reclusive musician was working somewhat hard at her day job. Now, besides fame, fortune, and the ability to walk out of said day job; what do you think she wished for more than anything else? A cure for cancer? End to hunger? World peace? Nope, the dream is simple: to be left alone by her co-workers.
Maybe this has something to do with my "realistic" outlook on life, but I suppose I don't ever believe we'll ever get world peace or an end to poverty. And cancer, while I do think is eventually curable, will just be replaced by a new health threat. As my dad says, "Something's eventually going to get ya."
But, peace and quiet from your co-workers? Maybe this is where the dreamer in me comes out. To be clear, when I mean I want to be left alone, I'm not necessarily being literal here. I don't mind the occasional chat about the weather, or the latest fashions, or heck, even politics to some extent. But, the problem is, and I'm sure many of you understand where I'm coming from, is people who consistently overstep their boundaries. How many times have you been given advice by someone who not only did you not ask advice, but didn't even bring up the topic in question at all? You know who I'm talking about. The people who suddenly, and for no reason other than the inability to be by themselves, walk over to your desk and just start telling you how you should be living your life.
But, here's the bigger question, if I did ever manage to achieve this state, the state of being left alone, would I finally consider myself happy?
A few days ago, one of my co-workers was having her weekly meltdown and decided to come over and vent to me. In this case, I was pretty much the only person around, though I've always had a tendency for people to share their problems with me. Most of the time I don't say a lot; I just nod and look interested and occassionally agree with whatever it is they're talking about. And usually that's all anyone really wants anyway.
But, there is a definite problem with the classic "rant" scenario. One, the person ranting keeps going on about one specific problem so long you feel like hanging yourself. Or two, the person ranting is so emotional that they're all over the map, making no real connections between anything.
Welcome to number two (oh, the connotations...). Somehow, with me innocently sitting and listening to her and her problems, she manages to pull me into her vortex of complaints. Yes, within moments, she managed to make the connection between her malfunctioning computer, and my general work dissatisfaction (just to be clear, I'm not the IS/IT lady).
She proceeded to tell me that she had been brutally abused as a child, raised in a cult, raped in college; and she's managed to be completely happy, so what's everyone else's problem? According to her, happiness is completely a choice, and she just woke up one day and "decided" to be happy.
OK, so I admit my insinuation that her extremely high intake of caffeine had affected her perception didn't go over too well, but then neither did any of my references to medical science. That a) your basic personality is formed while QUITE young, b) that depression (though, yes, still debatable) is often a specific medical issue and not necessarily "mind over matter", c) studes have begun to suggest genetics play a large factor in the lives of "happy" people (basically, some people are just born happy), and finally d) though I'm not aware that this is truly medically supported, the sugestion that highly intelligent people have a higher incidence of depression than others. All of this would at least imply that the one-size-fits-all everyone should just "happy up" solution, is a little shortsighted.
The worst part of all this, is that I find out her MAJOR in college was Psychology, and she appeared to not know anything about the anatomical workings of the brain itself. This definitely didn't leave me feel like I'd be visiting a therapist anytime soon...
But, even with all of that, her ultimate question still remained a valid one. Am I happy? Is anyone happy? What does happy really mean anyway? Is it possible this is just a disagreement over semantics?
I think it's really quite simple to act happy. My personal assumption is that MOST people who proudly proclaim their happiness would fall into this arena. Why? Because if you have to tell everyone about how happy you are, then it sounds like you're too busy worrying about how other people perceive you than how you actually feel. It's the methinks-the-lady-doth-protest-too-much theory.
At each of our individual births, most of our parents, even the more heinous ones, have a simple wish. "All I want my child to be is happy." But what happens when that happiness intrudes on other peoples's lives? What happens if you're happy to be a serial killer? You're happy living on welfare? You're happy to be a member of the KKK? You're happy dispensing your opinions on how other people should be living their lives without any regard for the other person's irritation?
Ah, now I see. As long as everyone lives their lives the same way, has the same emotional reactions, has the same fake smile, delusions, dreams, fears; THEN you can claim to have achieved this whole happiness thing.
As far as I'm concerned, "happiness" is not a state of mind, but a word. A simple word. It is not socially acceptable to be anything else but happy, and instead of enjoying and differentiating between a whole range of emotions, we've been forced to label practically everything as happy. God forbid there are some gray areas there. God forbid we are allowed to experience and be aware of each of these distinct states.
For many people, there is the belief that the reward for a life well-led is an eternal state of bliss. A great nothingness of white-light and long-passed loved-ones. And even though I truly believe that working on your problems is essential; that "reaching for the stars" is the only way to live; spending your entire life oblivious to all the subtleties around you is fairly pathetic. Quite frankly, this whole "putting on a happy face" obsession scares the bejesus out of me. Let's blindly act the same way everyone tells us we're supposed to act; just like we're supposed to graduate High School, go to College, get married, buy a house, have 2.5 kids, repress any acknowledgement of your emotions, have sex with the pool boy, have a mid-life crisis, sneak out for massage parlor fun, get a divorce... It's the American dream!
Human emotion and experience is not black and white. I can tell everyone I'm happy, and I can tell everyone I'm sad; but ultimately a word is just a word is just a word. It doesn't change the emotion behind it. What's more, I LIKE my emotions... all of them. And despite the implied societal pressure, I have no plans to start labeling everything that falls outside of the range of "happy" as "bad". It's the whole range of honest, true experieces that, well... kinda makes me happy.