happiness

Happiness or Contentment?

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A recent conversation at our early morning Turning Stone Resort and Casino Fitness Center Meeting sparked an interesting idea: would you rather be happy or content?*

You can’t answer if you don’t know the difference between the two. You can google or Ai both words on your own time, but it’s worth noting “contentment’s” etymology: “From the Middle English ‘contentement’, satisfaction of a claim or debt.” Did you think being content had anything to do with financial stuff?

Jury’s out, but let’s look at examples.

I was the first to the meeting and as I sat on the couch in front of the fireplace in the beautiful entrance hall, it occurred to me I was content. I was pain-free, did not lose any money in the morning’s gambling, was waiting for friends, and had no current life-threatening medical issues. The fireplace makes navel contemplation easy and contentment was the result of a contemplation free of issues, free of doubt, free of discomfort. And it was warm. And friends were coming to join me. It was a time for a clear mind to get out of the way and just bask in the glow from both the fire and the “satisfaction of a claim or debt”.

Minutes earlier on the gambling floor, I had won big on a favorite machine. ** As the “one-armed bandit” ramped up its big-payout bells and whistles and sirens, I was happy. Out of this world happy. How much would I win? Could I take a trip to the Bahamas?

Eh. Not the Bahamas but as noted earlier, the win was an integral component of the ensuing contentment. It wasn’t The Big Win, but it wasn’t a loss. It was enough to not spoil the morning but not enough to change a life.

I’m a big fan of contentment but wouldn’t kick happiness out of bed for eating crackers, if you’ll pardon the immature, misogynistic comment. It appears contentment is also “trainable”. You can teach it to sit and stay, for example.*** Contentment is like fruit on a tree, it’s there anytime you want it if know how to get it. It might even be shareable(sic) with a close friend or someone in need.

Happiness seems to involve luck. Serendipity. Being in the right place at the right time and—again—being able to recognize it ****. And as my machine blared my success earlier this morning, a look around the gambling floor revealed faces not exactly happy with my happiness. They may even have been harboring bad thoughts, or hoping my final amount would not be enough to make me too happy.

One thing noted as this essay unfolded: contentment is readily available if we notice it and cultivate it. We can get it anytime. It’s like a small, ocean-rounded rock you put in your pocket.

Happines? Not so much, it is mercurial, it comes and goes on the whims and impulses of The Gods.

Can they exist together? No. Happiness can help cause contentment, and contentment—probably—can help inspire or attract happiness, but only contentment is a life-changer: once you know to find it, the world is your oyster…most of the time.

And if you can’t find contentment now, be patient. Wait. It might be around the next corner…lurking…waiting for you to say hi.

*Spoiler alert: don’t read this footnote first cause happiness is sometimes defined as a feeling of contentment, and this essay is attempting to reduce confusion, not add to it.

**As a 50-cent per play bettor, winning $5.50 is a “big win”. In Trump math it’s about 1,000%.

***Still working on “fetch” and “roll over”.

****Ever wonder how lucky you are to NOT be in a place at the Wrong time? Ever drive by an accident and Thank God you were not in that exact spot 5 minutes earlier?

Is It? Really? Don’t Lie To Me…

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It’s April in Upstate New York and it’s SPRINGTIME!

Wait. Be right back.

It is! Had to go look, again, because you can’t be sure about the weather around here but it does look like it’s time to put the winter clothes away. If you live in a temperate climate whose winter doesn’t challenge you, you might not appreciate Spring the way we do, here….especially if you are an “older person”*. Minus Zero temperatures do wonders for the joints, and howling winds certainly help to clear germs and viruses from exposed skin. And no bugs! Snow is a big help, too: it takes the worry out of planning your day when everything is closed or closing. Enjoy your time alone. Learn more about yourself. Look inward, grasshopper.

The worst part of winter in upstate New York, though, is the complaining. Fugddaboutit NY City people having a “bad mouth”, come to Upstate when the snow is…

Hmph. I’m complaining, aren’t I. Not directly but that other way people whine. Reboot.

Spring is here! My windows are open, and my apartment is full of fresh air and construction.** It is also full of something hard to explain. This something happens every year when Spring returns, and since it is only my third spring after being in The South for over 20 years, my mind and body feel “something” my brain and fingers aren’t helping me explain.

It may be my brain and fingers want me to do something other than this. They may want me to go outside, take my clothes off, and walk***around in the sun under the fantastically clear blue sky. Or sit on my balcony and silently respond to the shouts, orders, directions, and curses of suddenly light-hearted construction workers. Imagine how happy THEY are about Spring.

I’m out of here. No more talking about Spring in Upstate New York except to suggest you southerners, Californians, and Upstate NY Snowbirds**** come to visit or return. It’s time. Paradise is reborn.

Footnote: so far this day, every person entering my bubble of existence is as happy about Spring as I am. And thankfully, only one has reminded me of how soon winter will be back. Buttwipe.

Out, out damn gray slush-lover!

“Lay on, McDuff!”*****

“The April’s in her eyes; it is love’s spring, and these gentle showers bring it with them.”

*Good, neutral term. Old Man or Old Woman might turn the reader off, as in “Who Cares.”

**A personal bonus from the expansion of my apartment complex. Besides the normal sounds of hammering and sawing and grinding and high-powered tools, there are also some interesting words.

***Yes, as a young man I often fell victim to the desire to feel sun all over,…but at a higher speed.

****People lucky/unlucky enough to have the best of Upstate without the worst.

*****Actual quote, often mis-paraphrased.

Ai, Ai, Oh No…

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Apologies to those who know the story and song of Old Macdonald’s Farm. He had all sorts of animals, but we never know if he is happy about it*. How could he be happy with all those animals to feed? He must have been a billionaire. Ai says there is no real ending to the Old McDonald’s Farm song, it can go on until the singer gets bored or tired or runs out of animals.

Life kind of feels like the song, now. Except for a new animal every verse substitute a new trouble, war, or unhappy event. As an essayist, it is harder and harder to come here and write something happy, something peppy, something uplifting. It is so easy to write WTF essays, “why is this happening essays”, and warning essays. Probably shouldn’t use the word easy, because writing about what is wrong in the world (in my opinion), is not easy, it’s annoying, and seems pointless. It’s not even cathartic anymore. There is a sense the turbulence of this world is not necessary, and that my golden years should be full of—at least—apathy, and not despair, unhappiness, anger, resentment.

I tried to sign up for DirectTv, yesterday but their website wouldn’t approve any of the 5 credit cards I tried. “Oops! There is a problem. Please try later.” The Ai chat bot took all my information, guided me to the website, and walked me though every step to get me to where I already was and then Ai asked: “And what does your screen say?” Oops. I asked for an agent and after a 5-minute wait one came into the chat and typed: “So how can I help you?” I typed “Oops! There is a problem. Please try later.” And the rep started by typing the same questions the Ai bot did. Hey! This is progress? This is better?

See how easy it is to complain?

 This essay will be an effort to not complain. I vow to find more positive things to write about, more good news to share, more ideas to inform or uplift, not brow beat or spotlight anger. Yes, most of the usual space has been used up already with the normal bleating, but there is still room for a few paragraphs of light.

The Rich have taken over the United States and will soon take over the world. And they don’t give a crap about anyone Not Rich. How can they be stopped?

Sorry. Old habit. As a retired person my days are my own to shape and one of my favorite times of those days is 2pm to 3pm. I recline on my favorite couch, put my tablet on my chest, and listen to NPR. The hour begins with 15 minutes of news and then the VoxPop show cuts in and a gentleman named Ray Graf opens his mouth. This only happens Mondays through Fridays, but VoxPop is enough to make a day better, and have that “better” last for at least the hours until VoxPop comes back on the airwaves. Ray has a way of yakking that is not only entertaining, but informative, and…bright. Happy. Content. Unhurried. Almost therapeutic. No more will be said except he is not available in all NPR areas. Wait, maybe VoxPop is, and can be heard over the wonderfully cluttered Internet of Ideas and Chaos. The station broadcasting Ray Graf’s VoxPop is WAMC, out of Albany NY. It’s unclear if anyone outside New York State can get his show, but try, and get back to me, will you? Google or Ai “VoxPop with Ray Graf” and see what happens in your area. I’ve not said much about the actual show, hoping the mystery will pique your curiosity and get to you look for it, so…do it. Now. It might get you off the snide** of current life and back into the gentle but challenging currents of real life. Real normal life, not Rich and Powerful Life.

Sorry. Old habits die hard.

*Or what tense of verb to use. Is Old McDonald alive? Dead? Mythical? The song does say he “had” a farm. Did it get repossessed? Fall into ruin? Or does he and the farm come back to life every time we sing about him? And where is this “farm”? And why the hell should we care?

**The Internet of Ideas and Chaos is often what we make it. Google snide, for example, and enjoy.

Best Friend or Romance…Let’s Not Call The Whole Thing Off

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I am an older gentleman who has lost or misplaced many friends. Three best friends died before their times by accidents or disease, and one got swept away by the strong currents of a cult*. Others were lost to career moves, love, loss of love, family matters, and irreconcilable differences. Life had blessed me-at this stage of my life–with lots of “peripheral” friends but no Best Friend** (BF). Don’t view that as sad, and—in case you were wondering—I had nothing to do with the deaths. Stop watching Crime Shows.

It was age 50 when the rule only a male could be another male’s best friend went in the garbage bin with the Members Only jackets and loose-fitting jeans***. Females of our species as potential, non-sexual, long-time partners, possibly a best friend during the male’s mate-hunting prime? Um, no. Not in my life, anyway. If you don’t understand ponder the existence of blow-up dolls. Anatomically correct blow-up dolls. With names.

But at age 50 there was a life-partner change brought on by the miracle of the Right Person (RP) finally entering a location close enough to appear on my radar. With the excellent hindsight of 74 years, she originally entered as a love interest. She was smart, secure, independent and could care less about my problems, she had her own. As age helped the romantic fire flame out, there was enough in the embers to make staying together worthwhile and we were BFs (and occasionally more) for over 20 years, longer than anyone else. Male or female. BF or not.

And then she left.  

But now, the BF “hope” at this age is not limited to one half of the population, the potential pool is twice what it was at age 30.  Those who don’t urinate into a stainless steel trough at sporting events can now be considered for the exalted position BF.**** A true benefit of old age, and it comes at just the right time.

A new BF for this time in my life has been found. When you read about my UPer (Unidentified PERson), that is her. She needs to remain nameless. There may be some lingering criminal issues in other states she doesn’t deserve to get mixed-up in. Wonder if she has the same issue? The best thing about a BF is we can keep secrets…from each other. It’s a wonderful thing to have in your life. UPer: Thank you for the time investment, vulnerability, and the possibility of a “ride-or-die” loyalty. Long may we last.

            This post is written for all the males and females, senior males and females, lonely and looking for love. And romance. Look for something else. Look for friendship. Those other things may follow. And this applies to everyone. God really doesn’t care who you love as long as you love someone. Take a closer look at all your current relationships, peripheral acquaintances, and contacts. You might be missing something.

*It happened in 1978. He was a childhood friend and best man at my first wedding. His 24-inch by 24-inch self-portrait of how happy he was with Jesus was done in crayon and folded to letter size for mailing. Every year since the internet I’ve googled the return address. It still does not exist, even on google maps. Why not? And yes, I consider it might have been me he was getting away from, but he was running towards something, not away, so there’s hope for him. After nearly 50 years.

**It is assumed everyone knows the difference between friend and “best” friend? Per AI: “a best friend is usually defined by three main factors: vulnerability, time investment, and a ride-or-die loyalty”. But what does Ai know? It also says “friend” and “best friend” are often “interchangeable”. Nerd.

***Sleepwear, now, every chance I get. No, not pajamas…SLEEPWEAR. Public pajamas.

****There is no additional “F” for forever. Ever.

Civilization and People and God

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It occurred to me as I was reading the normal allotment of assorted news this morning, there may be a higher force involved in the rise and fall of civilizations. National Geographic once published a large, fold out chart showing the timeline of the major civilizations that have come and gone from the Earth. Incas, Mayans, Sioux, Ottomans, as well as Celts, Pics, Huns, and multiple Asian Dynasties. The information is too large for my own mental storage system, and too diverse to even memorize all the lost civilizations, but the graphic point illustrated is that civilizations have come and gone for all the time the globe has spun, making ripe opportunities for current civilizations to learn enough lessons to do better next time and last longer. But do we?

Most dynasties flame out after a few hundred years, an important fact as we begin to celebrate 250 years of the United States of America. It appears we haven’t learned anything as we are on the very cusp of a slope we can either go down or avoid. History often cites hubris and over-extension as a reason for a civilization to disappear, but no one can ever be sure. Imagine a population getting so big it outgrows not only sewer systems, but food delivery systems, health systems, and judicial systems. It’s a simple step, then, to infer a collapse of society and a descent into unstoppable chaos and decay. As our 2026 government focuses on external expansion, internal issues fester and multiply, all the while government hopes money, riches, wealth, rare earth metals, and other tangible things are the glue that will hold us together for another 250 years.

In remembering the chart as it was on my wall, and staring at it every day, it looked like a complicated system of trial and error, start and restart. If looked like a record of humankind  trying to figure out the best “style” civilization to ensure long-lasting survival, it tells a story. The main problem appears to be the generations of citizens populating those civilizations. Looked at this way, we (the Royal We) have tried one way, it didn’t work, we tried another, and we tried another, but we didn’t give up…for millions of years.

Unless you are an atheist, or a strong-willed agnostic, it’s hard not to see the hand of a Higher Power directing these actions on the macro (world) level, while we can also empathize with the suffering that must have been endured at the micro (person) level. One can hope, by the way, that the Higher Power was of some comfort to the billions of humans on that micro level who died. What else could it be to them? The sun didn’t just come and go, a god made it happen.

The conclusion reached by this writer is one he senses in life: there is a God, but He lets us work things out on our own. No fire and brimstone, no flooding, just live and learn and faith and hope. What else do we need? Over a few million years, and billions of lost lives, we will eventually get to a civilization that works and makes God…happy? Hard to say, since God being unhappy might, yet, yield Armageddon-ish consequences. But He is playing the Long Game and probably still holds out hope (faith?) we will get it right…. someday. The hard part for those of us existing now is, it may not be this moment, this very time, when we get it right. Should we take consolation in understanding we are just part of an incremental step in the establishment of a world where all can live in peace and harmony?

Maybe, but here is what God wants from His people in any civilization: Love everyone, and live The Golden Rule.

Sounds corny but think of your best friend and how you are when you are around him, her, or them*. Now imagine feeling the same for everyone else. In this day and age, your next thought will be about how you CAN’T live that way, and those thoughts are normal and necessary for micro survival but… what if they weren’t? What if micro survival did not even matter…in the long term? And what about the ages and ages and ages of life to follow? And when our macro leaders fail us, where do we go when we are no longer breathing? And what if, with each passing civilization, a larger and larger per cent of its people lived God’s macro dream and worked for the best we could be? Will the deaths of 800 billion others be worth it?

That National Geographic chart on my wall ended in 2009, but it is not the end of the story, just the latest update. Those of us alive, now, should see it as a start and imagine where we go from here.

Just have faith? Yes. Hope will help a lot, too.

Or not.

*A nod to pets, too, and other plants and animals. Our ancestors.

How Many Of Us Are There?

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My UPER (Unnamed PERson) sent me a wonderful link to a nice, well-spoken gentlemen who discussed an intellectual and psychological concept you see all the time in these postings: the fragmentation of our psyche, what makes up our personalities and determines our actions. My postings use an Inner Voice (IV) and Outer Voice (OV) to illustrate inner mental and emotional conflicts. Regular readers* have been exposed to the inner dialogue IV and OV love to have about my life, its situations, and actions. Sorry for exposing myself**. Discerning readers also note there is an un-designated umpire ruling over the IV and OV debates, an entity making rulings, taking decisive actions, and writing these posts. Does that entity have a name?

Our brains are wonderfully intricate and obtuse. Ai obtuse for its “second” definition. The brain is bombarded with data from all sides, angles, and forms. Sight, sound, touch, political debate, and unfunny humor, so how does it decide what data, what stimuli to respond to? No one knows for sure, but I posit our magnificent gray watermelons take it ALL in, like a security camera, and park the data someplace in case it’s needed. Imagine the size of that data file after 73 years.

Who or what needs that data? And how is it recovered? Is there an app? And is it different for all 8 billion people? In the world of psychology, from here on out called The Circus, theories and guesses and opinions, oh my, abound. See the Pixar movie “Inside Out”, for a light-hearted examination of mental life. The Circus is different from excellent, rigorous, verifiable scientific research into the structures and mechanisms of the brain, where opinions are irrelevant.

Under The Circus’s tent you’ll find many “models” of personality that are used to treat corresponding symptoms/diseases of the “brain”, diagnosed by applying an individual’s actions to the individual model being used in the examination. Some results are good, positive, results, some are not. Fixing a broken mind isn’t as easy as fixing a broken bone. Or removing a misfiring heart. The word isn’t used anymore, but how many of us if we are looked at using the “correct” model might be labeled “crazy”? Everyone knows Freud’s name, but does everyone know what he postulated about the human mind? Ai him and read it. Or the many others*** in The Circus trying valiantly to bring their big-top show into the halls of actual science, oftentimes including simple self-help concepts meant to wrangle the mind into what it should be, according to the model of the time. I’ve been exposed to a lot of the models and could call IV, OV, and The Unnamed Umpire ID, Ego, and Superego to make myself happier. Or use the bible solution and replace all bad thoughts and lies with God’s Word. Or renew any addiction that makes thinking about things easier. Simple, profound advice when trying to understand your brain and its actions is to use anything that works for you, doesn’t destroy you, costs little, and doesn’t harm anyone else. IV OV and The Umpire are screaming in my ear to suggest you use their model. Actually, OV and IV are debating loudly while The Umpire is telling them to shut the hell up, we’re trying to be helpful, here. Like any other family, it will work out. Or not.

A thing to remember and helps: in 100 years none of it will matter or be remembered. OV wanted 200 years, IV wanted 50, The Umpire compromised.

Funny, happy ending? The fingers did exactly what they were told.

*I use “regular” because “irregular” readers don’t care or don’t know.

**It just sounds funny to admit it in writing.

***Transactional Analysis. CBT, DBT, and ACT to name a few acronyms. Maybe we need as many treatments as there are individuals?

An Undeniably Senior Observation

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It isn’t fair, but as we age things get difficult. We know this intrinsically, but I have proof: A Google Watch connected to a Fitbit App on my Samsung Smartphone. Out of curiosity, I stopped the google watch one time after monitoring my calories lifting weights, running, or swimming. Then I restarted it for showering, drying, dressing, and walking to the car. The result? More calories were burned after workouts while getting dressed than when lifting thousands* of pounds or swimming scores* of laps. Odd. But when you consider the “Activities of Daily Living” (ADLs) and “The Instrumental Activities of Daily Living”(IADLs)** the reason getting dressed burns more aclories than the workout becomes obvious: difficult things like lifting weights are still difficult, but easy things—like putting on pants—have become very, very difficult. I’m working out hard, now, to get in good enough shape to put on my pants!

The first thought was The Calamities were responsible. Arthritis, for example, made putting on socks an adventure in stretching, tugging, and twisting leaving me breathless after just one foot, and needing a short break before attacking the other. (No, the “assistive devices” on the internet were not helpful, except for the addictive “Reacher”, as chronicled earlier.) And the drive home is usually with socks twisted and bunched inside my slip-on shoes because there was no longer a desire to see just how fast my heart could beat. Google “orthostatic imbalance”.

Pants. Let’s talk about pants and their*** sadistic cousin, the swimsuit. The Calamities made dressing standing up next to impossible. Think about it, healthy people: putting one leg at a time into pants or a swimsuit while upright. Even putting either on while sitting is an exercise in hope, combined with several side-shifts, strategic tugs, and covering the sitting surface with a towel that has a life of its own. Getting pants off is a breeze until you have to pick them up off the floor. Same with a wet swimsuit, and you always hope the floor is clean. Aren’t they all in fitness centers? To summarize: off go the pants, on goes the swimsuit. Stop for breath, Go swim. Return from workout and off goes the swimsuit and on go the pants. And unless it’s summer, The Socks, too. (Capitalized for effect.)

It doesn’t help to have odd-shaped feet and fast-growing toenails. My feet (and hands) are tapered and are beautiful in their form, slanting down to each side from a higher, central middle digit. Very pleasing to look at, but when trying to slip such a foot into a pant leg or the genital sling of a swimsuit, that taper guides fabric right to the small toe, where no amount of trimming can keep a nail from growing just enough to catch that fabric and require a formally athletic and aerobically fit male to have to bend and tug and hope the fabric will release in time to prevent a stroke. Again: orthostatic imbalance.

Wow. Look at this post. Whine, much? I’m not sure how so much time and typing got wasted on dressing but for some reason I feel better about life, as if letting the world know how hard it is to get pants on makes my life so much easier. Cathartic posting?

The need to whine is over. The Calamities have been pretty much tamed and their return or advancement is not anticipated. Most of the arthritis was surgically removed and replaced with titanium and something akin to Teflon. So…when will life return to normal, with easy on and easy off attire?

Is there any reader out there over 70 years old who knows the answer? There’s no surgery that can help old age. No drugs to stop it in its tracks.

It appears the last 3 years have been a blessing in disguise, then, as my settling into old age “normalcy” is way better than dealing with those dastardly afflictions. I’m ready for anything life can do, now.

Yes, my glass is half-full. What about yours?

And since this venting felt so good, get ready for the next post where you will learn about the effects Image Guided Radiation Therapy (IGRT) can have on your digestive system. IGRT is an Ai guided procedure performed by a linear particle accelerator and you will read a harrowing tale of focused sub-atomic star-wars beams, loose stool, tattoos, unexpected gas, and…cliffhanger!

*Really? Thousands and scores? The mind…

** If you’re wondering about getting older, or are old already old and wondering what’s happening to you, google these two, ADL and IADL

*** Apology for the needless anthropomorphism. It’s a fun word and concept.

Expectations? Don’t Bother.

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In thinking about happiness and well-being, and after years of observation and self-testing, my conclusion is we are our own worst enemies. We get in the way of happiness by not seeing it when it’s there and by not pursuing it when it isn’t. The sentence sounds odd so take a moment to think about it…

I’ve been a New York Yankee fan since 1960. Sixty-two years. When you are a sports fan, you get to live the highs and lows of the teams’ results. Championship years and cellar-dwelling years, it’s all a package. Happy when the World Series ends in victory, banners raised, and sad in years they don’t make the Series, and the season is over with a whimper. It’s easy to see when happiness comes and when it doesn’t. They win, we’re happy. They lose, we’re not. Is there anything we can do about it? No, especially when we are a small child listening to every play on the radio. You actually experience happiness and despair, clearly defined and unavoidable. Damn Yankees.

So what does that have to do with anything? It’s easy to live with the happiness thrust upon you by your team winning, but what about the unhappiness of losing? Ah, there’s always next year. In baseball, the following spring brings hope for a better year, a hope for seasonal happiness, a hope for the World Series Ring. For a sports fan hope becomes an expectation. Before any new games are played, we do not hope the Yankees will be better, we assume to know the Yankees will be better, we expect it. And when the Yankees lose, we are unhappy because an expectation not realized makes us unhappy.

And there it is in black and white: expectations are the cause of unhappiness. The measured and regulated nature of sports makes it obvious, including the annual renewal of “expectation” no matter what happened last year. A common fan’s announcement after an unhappy, expectation-denying season is “never again will I root for them”, a vow only kept until next season begins with a new hope/expectation.

But the damage expectations do to our lives is harder to see in real life. Why are some of us unhappy? Something in life didn’t go as planned, didn’t happen as we expected it to happen, and there is no choice but to feel unhappy about it. Marriage doesn’t meet our expectations, we divorce. Friends don’t meet our expectations, we dump them. Even in our dining habits, if a restaurant doesn’t meet our expectations we unhappily decide not to dine there again. We expect a diet to work? Potential unhappiness. We expect to get a job? Meet the girl of our dreams? Become an influencer? Be like Taylor?

But it is not the action or inaction making us unhappy. Unhappiness comes from the destruction of expectation and how we process that destruction.

You want to be happy? Don’t expect anything. Ever. At all. Enjoy the terrible meal. Enjoy the Yankees losing. Enjoy your girlfriend dumping you. At least be ambivalent, but don’t be unhappy. And you can expand the process into your philosophy of life: don’t expect happiness and you won’t be unhappy when you’re not happy…?

A little hyperbole helps make a point until it veers off into absurdity. Hm. If you expect to understand what makes you happy and you never do, you’ll always be unhappy? Or happy you understand you’ll never be happy?

That’s it. You got it. Want to be happy? Just be happy. Let things be what they are. Do your best, but don’t expect it to be better than anyone else’s expectation, especially if it really is better.

Final example and possible escape from this mess: A young female student sits behind a young male in class. She constantly complains to him about not meeting the “right” guy. It takes her the entire school year to see her expectation of the right guy is wrong and the guy in front of her is The Right Guy. They fall in love and marry, something neither of them expected, though the guy did hope. (Don’t think too hard about this one. It’s a true story but a poor example.)

I took a shot of tart cherry juice to clear my head for the final, really final thought. Hope is one thing, but expectation is another, different thing. Find the hope all around you and you’ll find happiness anytime you want it. Let hope fester into an expectation, you lose control.

Keep hope alive. You can do it.

PS Hope this sloppiness helped someone…I expect to hear about it, too.

Happiness? Meh…

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Happiness. Bah, humbug; Ai says: “Happiness is a complex and multifaceted concept with no single, universally accepted definition.” After listening to algorithmic crap for 5 minutes the Ai voice settled on a conclusion: “it’s a mental state where positive feelings outweigh negative feelings.” There’s an algorithm you can run for yourself. Get a piece of paper, make a T Chart (also called a “graphic organizer”, “two column chart” or “Pros and Cons”). List all your positive feelings under the Pro side and all your negative feelings under the Con side, then add them up, subtract for the difference, and find out your mental state at that very moment. Remember, if the Pros outnumber the Cons you are happy, no matter how you feel. Trust the process.

You wonder where “happy” came from? According to Ai it derived from the Middle English word “hap” which meant “good luck” and through the years the word meant something that HAPPENED (or could happen) to you not what you felt about the happening. (e.g. Winning the lottery is “hap” and how you feel about winning the lottery is “happy”.) There is no known reason or excuse how happy came to mean a feeling of being fortunate instead of the actual act of being fortunate. Fortunately for you I wasted my time looking this up so you can sit and feel fortunate you didn’t have to do it. Put that on your Pro side.

Much like all the different “theres(sic)” there are, happiness is often misused and even misunderstood. If you feel happy you read my post, for example, does that make you happy all day? For a second? For ten minutes? Ai is, again, no help. Happiness can be: “a momentary, specific emotion like the joy you feel when something good happens.” Or it can be “a broader, more enduring sense of well-being.” Ai does not offer a judgment on well-being-joy being better or worse than momentary-joy when contemplating if you’re happy or not. Thanks for nothing. But if you have to contemplate if you’re happy, logic says you must not be, and if contemplating makes you happy, do NOT look down at your navel…unless it’s an outie.

When collegiate philosophical course requirements conflicted with the happy-go-lucky (Yikes.)  lifestyle of a young man, I retreated to an area lacking external stimuli. The hopeful plan was quiet reflection and meditation would lead to a clearer understanding of why what I liked to do to be happy might not be what what I should do to find everlasting happiness and peace. It took 52 hours for the mental fog to part, revealing nothing more than the need for external stimuli.

What saved that particular young man from perpetual Naval Contemplation while looking for “life’s:answers” about happiness was contemporary literature. In James Thurbers’ “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” and collected works, he noted the need for humor and a “Sense of wonder” when understanding happiness. Wonder? Yes. Remember how you felt when you first saw Niagara Falls. Or the Cathedrals of Europe. Wasn’t the wonder, first, that made you happy? For some specific NY sports people, imagine how you’ll feel when the Buffalo Bills (for non Bills fans, insert your favorite team,) finally win the Super Bowl. There will be a dizzying sense of happiness, but isn’t it the result of wonder? They finally did it! Wonderful. Some would say the Bills not winning the Super Bowl is humorous, as well, but let’s not get Western New York angry.

As usual, the post has wandered off to the side of the metaphorical trail, but one last visit with Mark Twain ( a HUMORIST!) might help with Happiness: “There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved.” Significantly, he adds: “To get the full value of joy, you must have someone to divide it with.” Not much humor in either statement, but happiness? We all know what he means…

So happiness can be like your first love: you’ll know it when you feel it.

And if it never happens? The only answer to “never” is an incommunicative death, which is what waits for us all.

But there’s hope. Be patient and recognize it. Happiness will follow.

Can’t close without a thought from (honorary) Dr. Steven Wright. “Yesterday I was a dog. Today I’m a dog. Tomorrow I’ll probably still be a dog.” Take 5 minutes to think before you wonder what it has to do with happiness and why it’s The End.

PS John Lennon’s song “Happiness is a Warm Gun” has nothing to do with this post. Maybe later…

Contentment…Awe…Happiness…Grace…

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A friend sent a link to a discussion on Awe, (google Dr. Dacher Keltner for more).

It reminded me of my essay about talking to the tree: it was so old, so big, so majestic…it was awe inspiring.

It’s hard to remember all that’s written, but somewhere in past essays I’ve explained my life has moments of grace, which is a form of awe and close relative to contentment and it’s older brother, happiness. A family of deep, rich, feelings one is truly blessed to experience.

But…doesn’t everyone have these experiences? More particularly, doesn’t every OLD person have these experiences? They seem to be coming with greater frequency, as if compensation for The Calamities. Is that happening to everyone, else?

It’s doubtful. Most of my older conversational partners are trapped in mindsets longing for the good old times, a way out of the times they are in, or a way to numb themselves to what they know is to come.

Sidebar: a religious article this morning led me to ponder an old question: if you are truly righteous and believe in an afterlife, why not get there as soon as possible? Why wait? And it’s not just Christianity.

Related to the Fraternity Of Good Feelings, is The Sorority of Sad Feelings. (Not a sexist insult, simply an artistic attempt at humor. Sue me.) As noted last week, a very sad day visited but left in time to not ruin the next. It was an odd bum-rush of a feeling I used to kind of enjoy when younger. If you belong to the school of Context and Perspective, sadness helps describe and enhance happiness/contentment. How do we recognize one if the other never exists?

Another sidebar? It may be the exercise I’m doing here, right, now, is part of the reason for lower levels of sadness and higher levels of undefinable Good Feelings.

One of the things Dr. Keltner mentions in his podcast is the gratefulness he feels for how his parents raised him. For my entire life I have felt the opposite. Farm life was hard. My father was not perfect. My mother was. Maybe it’s time to stop blaming them for a life I seem to enjoy so much, now. (Oh, God, Not Nature vs. Nuture, again.)

Look. Seriously, look. For some reason sunsets and sunrises have to be photographed. I have to listen to hours of Jackson Browne. Trees talk to me. I love The Chair. And Buffalo Chicken Pizza. And…

It’s easier to find reason to be content, to be awed, than to sit and absorb the reasons to angry, sad, resentful.

Just look….