Coming out of college, my biggest goal in life was to be happy. I don't mean happy in the "let's go prancing through the prairie" sense or a constant, never-ending state of elation. I mean I wanted to be satisfied with myself and whatever I was doing, regardless of my situation. If I wanted to extend it a bit, I could say that I wanted to always be bettering myself while helping others better themselves. The rest - a job, a family, friends - would take care of themselves so long as I kept this perspective. Sounds simple enough, no?
Coming out of college, it started off smoothly enough. I got a sweet teaching gig in the summer that made me realize how much I enjoyed teaching and then I headed off to Central America which was obviously an important experience to me.
The months since returning home, however, have been a different story. Suddenly my optimistic outlook was up against the nitty gritty details of everyday life. I wanted to better myself, but most people seemed to be ok with staying stagnant. I wanted to appreciate the little things in life, but others seemed content with complaining about them instead. The job search went to shit and I settled. My mood changed seemingly beyond my control. One day I could feel happy and satisfied and the next I could find myself questioning and doubting the most fundamental parts of who I was (I call these swings my "man-period"). Suddenly, happiness felt less like a choice and more like a fickle emotion that dropped in whenever it pleased. I felt subject to my surroundings and my emotions. Was my "happiness is a persective" idea just a bunch of bullshit?
It's easy to argue that yes, my idea is bullshit. There is so much beyond our control: where we were born and who we were born to, what genes we inherited and how our brains are wired. I look at someone like my grandma, someone who has been crazy for as long as I have known her. When I was a kid, it used to seem funny to me. I used to ask her if she was pregnant because I knew she was insecure about her weight. It seemed so obvious to me that she wasn't fat that I thought it was harmless. I used to think she was being thoughtful when she would extravagantly wrap our Christmas gifts in such well-decorated packages that you felt guilty tearing apart her creation. Being somewhat grown up now, I'm beginning to see how much a need for attention and the shallow desire to always be young and pretty has influenced her life and taken her down paths that no remotely rational human being would go down. She doesn't have a job, but she goes on 36 hour shopping binges. She asks me to help her with a yard sale on a late November weekend that she doesn't try to organize until 3pm on Sunday afternoon, roughly an hour before sunset. Worst of all, she is able to manipulate the deep desire we have to help her. She'll twist the guilt knobs and make you feel like the most ungrateful person in the world until you cave and do her bidding.
Mostly, I look at her and I wonder, Did she ever have a choice? Could she have avoided this road?
I know, despite my deepest wishes, I'll never have an answer to those questions and I fear that it is possible to reach a point beyond saving.
I don't know if happiness is a choice that we'll always be able to make, and it seems that it is naturally easier for some than others to find. For the sake of ourselves and the sake of those we care about, I believe that if the choice is ours to make, we have the obligation to do so. It is not an easy path to follow. It involves a painful honesty - one that breaks down the consoling lies we tell ourselves and recognizing ourselves for who we really are - and a lifelong commitment to questioning . After all, we'll never fully conquer ourselves. Only once we understand who we are - our biases, our emotional flaws and what we find genuinely fulfilling - can we start living in a way that is truly satisfying. The choice is ours to make, and it may not always be there.
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