Dreams|Goals|Happiness

Happiness is not what you have, but what you do

Therein lies the Solution

It’s a thing out there we’ve all been reaching for since we emerged from the womb and guess what — we’re still seeking it.

Makes the Lost City of Atlantis look easy — Aisle 114 in Costco, right next to the inflatable camping beds.

What It Isn’t

I have asked for happiness as a child. It was a writing assignment in third grade. Pretty existential I came to realize later, but it was okay at the time. I believe there were accompanying images (in crayon) of those things that made be happy. A bicycle, puppy, large pizza, that sort of thing.

Happiness, even at age eight was a possession. Something you could find with a map or a metal detector. Something you could wish for in a dream, ask for right before Christmas, or standing outside the funeral home, waiting for things inside to end.

I was convinced you could hold happiness, like a doll or that aforementioned puppy. Something tangible that felt good. Not soft, not hard, definitely not moist, but something that was real, whether it fit into your pocket or the basement at home — it was always a thing.

But it’s not. A thing that is.

You can’t buy happiness, just like you can’t buy love. The Beatles said that, so have others. And I guess it’s true by all accounts.

Though saving up for happiness on a layaway play has merit — it would sell — it’s just not doable. Not anymore.

Happiness Is

Happiness is not what you have, never has been. It’s not in your collection of things in the room off the kitchen. It’s not in the man cave or the rec room just above the bar. You can’t frame it, box it or bring it out once a year on Groundhog’s Day and show the folks what it looks like.

Happiness doesn’t belong to you. I know, a bummer.

But the reason is simple. Happiness is a verb. It’s what you do that makes you “feel” happy. Happy is the noun. I know it’s confusing, but just bear with me.

Happy is what another person experiences, as in, “Bob, you look happy today.”

Happiness, on the other hand, only comes about when you’re doing something that brings joy to you or others. Most always in others. But in you as well.

You see it in videos. Those guys cutting away nets and plastic beer can holders, from around baby seals. And though they seem mad at the time, you can tell. They’re able to breathe freely again. They’re happy. And the guys who just saved them — that’s happiness.

When you mow the elderly neighbor’s yard, or bring them half the chocolate cake you shouldn’t eat anyway. The look on their face. That’s happy. What you feel inside — the result of happiness, the verb.

I’ve also heard it said that Happiness is not a destination, but the journey getting there.

Just another way of saying the same thing.

Like this. Build a soapbox derby car. Test it. Doesn’t work. Fix it. It goes 30 feet further down the hill before the wheel falls off. Fix it again, more carefully. Test it again. It makes it to the bottom, but slowly. One more time. Then it works just right.

That’s happiness right there. And as your grease covered hands run through your hair and you let out a sound, half-laugh, half-relief, that’s what you’re feeling. You did it.

Your thoughts and your hands and you heart all got together, sorting through the disagreements and memories of past failures. Smoothing out issues of who’ll be in charge and at the end, that beauty rolled past the finish line at 32 mph.

That’s happiness.

The problem is not that we can’t find the thing, or that it keeps changing colors like a fucking cuttlefish. Or that someone designated it top secret and there’s only six of them left in a lab, somewhere in Maryland.

It’s that it’s not permanent.

Keeping It Alive

Six days after the race or six weeks, happiness begins to fade. Like an awning left out in the beach sun for too long. It’s just not as bright or vibrant. We don’t feel that feeling in our gut or loins and heart.

And then we realize — and this is the key part right here. The fucking defining moment that has turned happiness into a noun after centuries being something else — We have to do it all over again.

Let me say it another way. Happiness is not permanent. Not like that linoleum in your grandmother’s kitchen that’s been there since 1921 and still looks better than your faux oak floors.

It has a shelf life and a half life as well. That’s what’s so freaking annoying. That moment, when the soapbox car zips across the finish line — that never goes away, not completely. It’ll be there for 10,000 years. But it’s not alive enough, vibrant enough to sustain us. We need more.

So, we’ll have to go out and do something again. Something else. Something different. Another car. Another trip. Another day out with your daughter looking for terracotta pots for her backyard. Another day picking up trash along the highway. Another tree planted. Another story written that makes someone laugh or cry or think about something new.

Happiness is not a noun. You can’t own it. Package it. Or vacuum seal it and put it in the fridge for later. You’re thinking of something else. Maybe possessions like cars, or jet skis or faux leopard skin rugs, that fill the house and take up space and come with a sense of ownership.

Different thing altogether.

I believe that’s why happiness has been so elusive to so many. But it’s not.

It’s always been right there out in front of us, waiting for us to catch up.

We live in an era where things are important. When enough things collected and neatly stored away make us feel like we’ve accomplished something. In a way we have — we’ve collected a lot of things.

But the assumption that spending time collecting and taking care of these things will somehow bring us happiness hasn’t worked all that well.

If we collected some of those things and gave them to others. Or worked harder at sharing our dreams, our laughter, the words we think of; the fruit we grow, the songs we write, the hearts we help mend. If we did all these things more often, I have a very strong feeling that happiness will find us more often than before.

That our searches will gradually come to an end, as will our longing. And this elusive noun will find a home within our own and will eventually stay for longer periods, before venturing out to do the same thing for someone else.

I was reading an article this afternoon, written by Michele Till, that was built on similar ground as mine here. Different view, different voice perhaps, but on the same wavelength. I wanted to acknowledge her story and recommend that others read it as well.

She tagged a number of people, who I am tagging here as well — just because. To share the feeling and momentum.

Thanks for stopping by!

Trista Ainsworth, Amy Marley, Aurora Eliam, CMP, Kathryn A. LeRoy, Ph.D., Gurpreet Dhariwal, Desiree Driesenaar, Selma, Dipti Pande, Henery X (long), Alison Tennent, Livia Dabs, Chris Hedges, Paul Myers MBA, P.G. Barnett, Terry Mansfield, Rasheed Hooda, Timothy Key, Sumera Rizwan, John Ross, Tim Maudlin

Joe Luca is writer and editor for ILLUMINATION and a published author and writer of children’s stories, short fiction, non-fiction articles, screenplays and poetry. Publications include Child’s Life, Children’s Playmate and others. There are some other articles below — have a read. And thank you for stopping by.