About a month ago, at a local Austin, Eastside bar, on a sunny, Saturday, late-afternoon, a hippie-dressed patron of the bar, asked me, reflectively, as I was ponying up to order a Corona with lime, if I was happy?
I did a double take, looking a bit surprised and confused by the question?
Was she serious or kidding, I wondered to myself?
I always love and welcome these sorts of conversations, especially in a bar context, where many, even most, seem to be searching for answers?
Assuming she was sober in her request, I answered, “Am I happy”, “Very happy”, “Yes, of course, I’m happy”.
Without giving her an opportunity to respond, I quickly told her back, “I’m so happy, I’d like to but you a drink and asked you, why you asked me this question in the first place”.
I wanted to know more about her.
She got up off her bar stool and cozied right up next to me, maintaining eye contact, and a sense of emotional resonance, in her very intentional approach.
She was dead serious. She sincerely wanted to know, was I happy?
I had a feeling, right away, this was going to be a long conversation.
It was, easily…. a 2-drink conversation. Maybe more?
Happiness was on the agenda. And happiness only.
The time flew by, for both of us, full of musings, pontifications, surmises, and speculations about life and love, and, of course, happiness.
When anyone, family, friends or even strangers, asks us about our happiness status, we tend to gloss over and automatically respond, without thinking, “I’m fine”.
But are we fine? Or is this just the public facing we spread over our lips and looks.
Is fine the same as happy?
We all manage to put out pretty good pubic facings, about our exaggerated sense of happiness, but, below the surface, where no-one goes or sees, we aren’t really happy? Gut happy? Honestly happy? Genuinely happy?
My gut tells me, from my own experience, most people are more content than happy.
For sure, everyone enjoys moments of happiness in life. But it’s a rarity, so it seems, to find people who are genuinely, day-in-and-out… happy.
Both my mom and dad were “happy” people, so luckily for me, and my siblings, we had an unfair start and a reservoir of “happiness” genes in all of us to pull from.
When I’m taking about happiness, in general, I’m not talking about happiness as a mood or temporal feeling, which comes and goes, based on circumstances.
I’m talking about happiness as a lifestyle choice, regardless of the fear, anger and life oppositions we struggle with, that confronts and fights against our ephemeral happiness.
Being happy, or at least attempting to be happy, even if imperfect, heals and sustains us.
I’ve heard some therapists, my own included, refer to happiness as external emotions, based on your current state of affairs and joy as internal emotions based on your state of mind and heart.
Could be? Makes sense.
When I have a camera in my hand, right or wrong, I seem to be always in a happy state of mind.
Maybe there is something redemptive and remedial, about creating art, or anything, that makes us happy? I don’t really know. Photography makes me happy.
Happiness is a good thing, no matter how you look at it, for the soul, society and the cosmos.
My new friend hugged me. She told me she was happy we met. I was happy too.
Click.
Jack
