Trying to Find "Happy"

I’ve been wrestling lately with the idea of happiness, since happiness seems to be rather elusive for me. There are those who say I’m negative, and to a degree they are right, though it’s rather rude and hurtful of them to state so with such bluntness and so little feeling. I think it’s pretty commonly accepted that some of us are naturally predisposed to see the depressing while others are naturally predisposed toward the hopeful. How much of that is genetic or environmental conditioning I don’t know. Regardless of the source, I’m naturally predisposed toward the depressing. I’m not sure if that predisposition can be changed so that one’s permanent setting is always on the bright side (How pleasant!), but I do believe that even if the internal settings can’t be changed – and perhaps they can – with hard work you can force yourself to make it a habit to look on the bright side and focus on it, whether the habit comes naturally or not.

Um… hardest thing ever!

There are a myriad of factors that pop into my head, though, when I start to explore the idea of happiness. Is it possible to be happy, for instance, when the deepest longings of your heart go unsatisfied year after year – starvation of the soul rather than the body? How do you find happy when the life you live is nothing like the life you long for and you can no longer feel any real sense of hope that you will ever find what you long for? When my best friend and her husband struggled with infertility for years and lived with a pain that eventually began to overshadow everything else, how were they supposed to find happy? You can find peace or acceptance, but can you find happy? I’m not sure. The reason I ask is because I feel as though I’m drowning in sadness right now. Again. Story of my fucking life.

Taken in account, I have much to be thankful for in my life, and because of the work I do I’m reminded on a daily basis how fortunate I am and how happy I should be when compared to the trials of others: people struggling with diseases, poverty, abuse, great loss. Compared to many, if not most, in the world, my little longings are meaningless. But saying that hurts because it trivializes a pain that is all too real, and my reality is that the starvation of the soul can ravage one as deeply as the starvation of the body. It can change a person and make them unkind in ways they hate. It can twist you into something ugly so that you feel resentment toward those who “have it easy” or “get everything they want” and especially those who get what you want, even if the way they get it isn’t how you would want to.

That’s how the ugly is coming out of me right now. I can’t find it in myself to be happy for people who get what I want. Not everyone, of course, but there are a handful of people in my life that I’d just as soon shut the door on and never speak to again. The thought of them induces eye rolling and a strong desire to yell, “Fuck you! Leave me the fuck alone!” Ugly, I know. Try knowing that is inside you. You can start to hate yourself for it. The crazy thing is that at least two of the people I feel this way about are people I haven’t seen in a couple of years and with whom I have minimal contact. Neither has committed any serious wrong toward me, but I am angry at them for nothing more than the fact that they got what I want, they get to be happy and I don’t.

Seriously, maybe I should go find myself a cabin in the woods somewhere so that my venom won’t hurt anyone. Jealousy is a horrible thing to carry. I hate that I feel that way. I think it makes me a horrible person, though my best friend, who bears the dubious honor of hearing my most honest confessions, assures me that I’m merely human. But how awful to feel things that you detest feeling and not be able to stop feeling them.

I know that those feelings are the natural result of deep pain. Even kind intent seems like a threat to a wounded animal when it’s cornered, and this wound has been bleeding out for years.

The thing is this: I want to be happy, and I wonder if it’s possible. If I could change my circumstances, I would. I can’t though. I’ve tried. There are some things that are simply beyond your control. I can leave myself open to opportunity and can even seek out opportunity, but I can’t force opportunity to find me. If I could, I would. So what do I do? I don’t want that to doom me to a life of despair and longing. Shoot me now because it’s just not worth continuing if that’s all there is ahead.

One solution is to focus my attention on other things. I’ve done it often enough in the past, but it never fixes the problem, and even as I invest myself elsewhere, I’m aware of the ONE BIG THING that’s still starving inside like a giant elephant in the room that no one wants to acknowledge, its mouth duck-taped shut to ensure it doesn’t bother anyone with its demands. You can refocus, but the elephant is always there.

You can fake it, but who wants to do that.

You can “choose” happiness, as some people say, but that’s never made all that much sense to me. I guess that means choosing to be thankful and choosing to focus on all the things that are good in your life. I’m working on it. I really am. I’m trying to remember every day that, despite the pain, my life overall is moving in a progressively better direction than it was even six months ago, that not every dream is beyond my reach, even though those that mean the most seem to be. But I’ll be honest, that seems like more of a stop-gap measure or a survival technique. It gets you through, but it’s not happiness. And what I want is not more survival or distractions or a few more stop-gaps. I want the war to be over, the pain to be finished and that elusive little bluebird of happiness to build a big, fat nest on my shoulder and never fly again.