Happiness

“I’m not unhappy : I should be grateful for what I have ; but is this all there is for the rest of my life ?”

Alternative question : “Is this all there is to life in general ?”

“I should be grateful…” yes, but to whom ? There lies the mental suffering triggered by the concept of duality : me on one side, the universe on the other. There is often a third entity, and a completely imaginary one at that : God. God is neither me, nor is he the universe. So, instead of duality, we should perhaps talk of triality.

I know that I exist (cogito ergo sum) and that the universe exists. That’s as far as it goes. I don’t know what I am and what the universe is. Neither my five senses nor the advances of science are enough to make me understand the nature of things. We don’t even know what lies beyond the word “energy”. Naming something is only classifying it. Knowing how something works is not the same as understanding its nature. So, all too often, we invent a god (or several gods) to whom we say “thank you” if things go our way – if our child survives a serious operation, for instance – but to whom we also say “thy will be done” if the child dies. Very neat : our invented god can never be wrong.

Instead of being grateful, we should savour each second, especially when we are not hungry, cold, in pain or persecuted.

Living is a joy. If we remind ourselves that we are not separate from this universe that we don’t understand – especially its most mysterious of parameters, the one we call “time” – our joy can be profound. The instant can become eternal.

So : “Is this really all there is for the rest of my life ?”

If we expect – or hope for – something better and more exciting, it may happen or it may not. We can be sure, however, that nasty things will indeed happen : accidents, illnesses, money problems, heartbreaking separations… A rather negative point of view, you might say.

To be positive about it, why not try to introduce variety in our lives ? Would that be good idea ? Variety, known as “the spice of life” rekindles for a while the excitement we all felt when we were young : our first high-school diploma or university degree, our first lover, our first job. Yet, seeking variety for its own sake becomes a drug and, as with all drugs, you need stronger and stronger doses.

Perhaps it’s sunny. Ordinary buildings and streets suddenly become cheerful. Hedges shine. The sky is blue thanks to a chemical called ozone cocooning a tiny planet : a pinpoint in the solar system, itself a pinpoint in our galaxy, itself a pinpoint in our cluster of galaxies, the cluster itself a pinpoint in the known universe. In this infinitesimal bubble, we see, we think, we discover, we invent, we interact. If that’s all there is, then we are very lucky indeed. It’s exhilarating. Who need a stronger drug ?

In many 19^th and 20^th century novels, the ideal life was one of routine and stability. In Émile Zola’s L’Assomoir, Gervaise describes her ideal surroundings : one room with a table, four chairs and a bed. What about her ideal life ? Sharing that one room with a good man, bringing up a child and dying in that very bed. So much for the poor. For the rich, Jules Verne describes in loving details the day-to-day routine of Phileas Fogg. This repetitious life, with every day unfolding exactly like the previous one, is seen as the ultimate recipe for happiness. Agatha Christie is also unequalled at making us share the wonders of lives punctuated by the smell of frying bacon, a bubble bath, walking the dog or tending the garden until, of course, this idyllic existence is disturbed by a murder…

“If I had money, if I had this, if I had that, I would be happy.” Would you ? No : you’d want more. You’d  be gnawed from the inside by the cancer of permanent dissatisfaction.

Unlike a rocket, happiness does not depend on external boosters.