Happiness is...

When I think about happiness, I imagine Snoopy doing his unbridled happy dance, although it's almost as charming when Schroder shames him into stopping.

Happiness has to be one of the most elusive things out there. Kind of like bigfoot. Yet for some crazy reason it is written into the Constitution that we have the right to pursue it. So it must be a worthwhile goal, right?

I'm going to guess a formula for happiness might be:

Happiness  = basic needs are met + good health + free time to do what we want

Basic needs being met and good health are clear enough. It would be harder to be happy if you were homeless, hungry or on a respirator, although not impossible. The last one is perhaps less obvious. Parents of young children such as myself seem to have it all, yet so few of us are happy because of that free time part of the equation. Our time is almost never our own. Then we feel guilty for not appreciating what we have. So the cycle goes.

Buddha had a very different approach to finding happiness. He said we should look at the root cause of our suffering. This makes him sound like a pessimist, but his point was that only in understanding why we are not happy do we stand a chance at finding happiness. Now that sounds like one of those Zen koans that are impossible to answer, but there is sense to this. If you look at what is bothering you straight on, maybe you can make it stop, or at least see it clearly enough to realize it's not so bad after all.

What's my point? I may not have one. Today, an acquaintance was lamenting not being able to do it all as a mom. Her passion is writing, but she feels guilty for not being there every moment for her children. I say let them eat frooty pebbles sometimes and skip the guilt. Not even Oprah has it all, as she openly admits. So let's all cut ourselves some slack and find joy in the little things, like the smell of Fall in the air today. It's kind of making me feel like doing a happy dance.

What do people want?

I have a hideous, awful, horrible confession to make: I am unoriginal. I used this title in another blog post that I used for a writer's group blog, but I promise not to repeat content. And my answer is different this time: Mint chip ice cream.

The what-do-people-want question was floating through my head as I scooped my third helping. Why do people do what they do? And why does this stuff taste so damn good eighteen spoonfuls later?

The answer to the second is scientific manipulation of my taste buds but the first is more interesting and slippery, almost as slippery as melted ice cream which is why I don't waste time when eating it.

Our brains are goal-oriented. Without goals, we wouldn't do anything, ever. If you don't believe me, try it out. Tell yourself it doesn't matter if you brush your hair today, go to work or finish that novel and see how far you get. (I'll tell you this much, if you are me and you go outside without doing something with your/my/our hair, we will be picked up in no time flat as an escapee from the local loony bin.)

We respond to incentives, whether it is financial (showing up to work) seeking out good feelings (the pleasurable sensation of that cold, refreshing, sweet stuff on our tongue) or the rush we get from finishing a chapter and thus getting one step closer to our goal of finishing the dang novel before I turn 100. As far as grooming goes, the sensation of the hairbrush might feel good to our scalp, but I think for most of us, the incentive is to avoid the look of pity in others' eyes that we have devolved into a bag lady.

I am in the process of making tags and putting clothes on hangers for a semiannual consignment sale. My husband asks, 'Why do you do that? Why not just donate that junk?' It's a valid question, although I do take issue with the word 'junk' when we've got a whole basement full of his treasures. I do it because it makes me feel good. I get to sort through all my kids outgrown clothes and get one last nostalgic rush before sending them on to the next owner who will hopefully look as cute in them as my kids did. I also do it so I can get the first shot at buying from the consignment sale. Win-win if you ask me. Hubby looks at me like I'm a crazy bag lady. (I've been busy and can't find a comb. So sue me.)
We all have our pleasures, but do we take time out to think about them? Check in and see if they still fit or if it's time to let them go?

Oh, hey, what a great metaphor with the outgrown clothes. Gosh, I feel like a genius. I deserve a treat. If you want some mint chip, get your own. This container is just the right size for me.