Engulfed by Miserable Happiness

You know what I hate about happiness? Absolutely nothing. I could sit here, plucking away at the keys of my computer, attempting to conjure up one minute reason to rid happiness of its happy connotation, and I simply would be incapable of doing so. Happiness, in and of itself, is undeniably, irrevocably, unwaveringly, breath-takingly happy. Thus, it becomes pretty apparent why people in this world will do anything to achieve such happiness. They yearn for it; they thirst for it; they live a life consumed by the pursuit of happiness. And this is not wrong. There is nothing sinful or perverse about craving genuine, well-cultivated happiness. We all do it. However, there is something to say for this whole idea of being consumed by the pursuit of happiness, engulfed by the ravages of a life that will never be happy because it is consumed by happiness.

In The Sorrows of Young Werther, Goethe says, “Why does that which makes a man happy have to become the source of his misery?” If I had to describe this quote in one word, I believe I would go with, “Bingo.” There are millions upon millions of ways through which a person can achieve happiness. Oftentimes, these sources of happiness begin with extraordinary innocence, simple wonder, and – how could I forget? – pure, unadulterated bliss. Yes; I am speaking of happiness in its infancy, the rough equivalent of the first time you felt butterflies when you realized that the opposite sex was not totally worthless after all. Yes; that is like the onset of a sweet sickness called happiness. Soon, butterflies give way to comfort, a solace in the hands of a source of joy in which you have grown to enjoy the company. It is no longer a thought or a hope. It is real, and it is concrete. Happiness has been achieved. Yet, this achievement of comfort then gives way to consumption. It consumes you. It devours you. Longings for more and more and more of this once easy-to-come-by happiness soon become too much to quench. This innocent happiness is now a wanted criminal, using you as nothing more than a plaything in its miserly, devious plan. Soon, happiness gives way to misery.

Quite sadly, I have seen this progression unravel in my own life a couple times before. If you know me well (or are familiar with my blog at all), you've come to know my love for New York just as well. It began as a simple curiosity, a realization that there is such a thing as a big city, an inimitable desire to take in something just a little bit different. Once I made my little journey to the Big City, sheer awe and amazement gave way to true enrapture. I was happy amidst the seas of people and even larger seas of attractions. Indeed, I had found joy on its pleasantly filthy streets. However, when I returned, my memories of that joy did not soon dissipate. They stuck right on with me. Soon enough, I was so consumed by the idea of going back to New York that I could not focus on the life in front of me. I was engulfed by the future and its promise, so much so that the present had become nothing more than a monotonous bore, the present was no longer fulfilling. Thankfully, I recognized this sooner rather than later and made some necessary adjustments to my perspective. Do I still yearn to live in a big city? YES. But it has slowly but surely returned to a happy craving as opposed to an overwhelming, hindering consumption.

And thankfully, I have come to find that not all sources of happiness are the first step down a slippery slope. That would be a sad life. We can’t live in fear of happiness. The idea of such a fear makes me sick just thinking about it. Happiness is lovely. It is like waking up to a snow day when you least expect it. However, if every day was a snow day, the happiness would quickly wear off. So, be wary of consumption, but not too wary to enjoy.