The Myth Of Happiness

            Waves rumbled and crashed at the shoreline. Birds like silent gliders rode the air currents above, squawking loudly. The shell-studded sand stretched before me littered with treasures the sea had given up. I walked among and around them, too caught up in my mental preoccupation to notice their unique beauty.

            I’d walked for nearly a mile along this stretch of unbroken beach. In days gone by walks like these were a very familiar activity, but it had been many years since last my feet felt the wet sand beneath them as they made imprints the next wave would wash away.  Ambling idly, the waves gently lapping over my feet, I struggled between memories of the past and my present realities, trying to come to peace with my life, the choices I’d made. Decades of my life splashed across my mind as each wave broke and hit the shore, sometimes in a tumultuous crash, sometimes a quiet swish.

            It had finally happened. My life had reached its summit. Like that first climb of a roller coaster at an amusement park, I’d gone over the top and it was all down hill from here. Looking figuratively over my shoulder I saw more years behind me than I could possibly hope to expect in my future. My most important work was over. My children were grown and off on their own. There’d be no more opportunities to teach a life lesson, train in one more manner, read together one more book. This roller coaster ride did not seem all that “amusing” now. It was time for the judgments to be handed down, for the jury to render its decision. Will they succeed? Will they follow their dreams? Will they continue to grow in their faith and serve God? Had my best been enough? Did I really give my best, always? And what now was there for me? What lay ahead in the years I had left? Work perhaps? Though doing what, I had no clue. Maybe I can try and actually keep a clean house now I mused, picking up a piece of limp brown seaweed and tossing it back into the water. I knew, however, that was a pipe dream. If I hadn’t gotten that figured out at this point in my life, there was little hope of anything significant changing on that score.

            I worried sometimes I’d become gradually more and more like my own mother, fiercely independent and stubborn. Mother’s ways had intensely frustrated my husband over the years. Nearly drove a wedge between the two of us I remembered, wincing at the thought as if a bee had stung me.

            The sun skated silently across the sky oblivious of me out here alone on this isolated stretch of beach, concerned only with the inevitability of its created purpose to cross the sky each day in its appointed path. “You have no cares, do you?” I queried the heavenly orb out loud. Must be nice to not have to be concerned if you make a mistake or not and, if you do, how damaging it might be to someone you love.

            That was probably my greatest fear. If my inadequacies would in the end prove to be a stumbling block for any of my children. Oh, I also wondered occasionally about what the end of my days would be like. Would I have poor health? Would I be alone? Would my children stay in touch or become so preoccupied with their lives that “mom” became an afterthought? I felt I’d fallen prey to that myself with my own mother. Not that she ever complained. Mother’s perspective was always that she rejoiced when “her girls” were doing well and were happy. Standing still, facing the open sea, a warm sea breeze blowing back my hair, I remembered how many times Mother had posed that dreaded question. “Are you happy?” she’d ask, a look of expectancy on her face. I came to hate that question.

            What is happiness anyway? Over the years I had tried to answer that question. Men and women from all walks of life down through the ages have voiced opinions on the subject. Abraham Lincoln said, “Folks are usually about as happy as they make their minds up to be.” That sounded like something my mother would say “Amen” to.  Jane Austen declared in Pride and Prejudice, “I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve.” This made me think of the more modern phase “living the dream”, an attitude I could not easily relate to. Charles Schulz espoused, “Happiness is a warm puppy.” Well, cuddling with a warm puppy could certainly make one happy for a time, till that puppy needed to be fed, cleaned up after or taken to the vet. Maybe Bob Ross, the famous TV painter had the best perspective, “If what you’re doing doesn’t make you happy, you’re doing the wrong thing.” This at least serves as a motivation to examine yourself so you have a chance to make course corrections.

            Shading my eyes and gazing out over the water I saw a dolphin leap playfully out of the water. Now that was carefree happiness. I watched as the sleek, gray sea creature jumped high into the air then dive effortlessly back into its familiar medium, over and over again. The edges of my lips turned up ever so slightly as I watched the dolphin’s antics. Then reality returned. The truth is that for us mere mortals, happiness should not be our goal. We are supposed to be “joyful”, that deep, abiding emotion that withstands the storms of life and sustains us, unlike the more ephemeral happiness dependent on transitory situations that arise in our life. After all, I thought, you can become unhappy, but you can’t become “unjoyful” because true joy comes from and is a gift from God.

            Tucking my hair behind my ears, I resumed my walk. As I had gotten older, I found it increasingly hard to relate to the term happiness. Thinking about it now I wondered if Mother asked that question more for her own peace of mind than to help me. Maybe she couldn’t be happy herself with her own life choices and solitary lot if things in her daughter’s life were not “happy”. If I was not happy, Mother might have to face her own mistakes and inadequacies.  I’d finally concluded that the only way to relate to happiness was to see it as the absence of sadness. So long as I did not feel sad, or have that gut wrenching feeling of some impending tragedy or disaster about to descend upon me, an all too familiar situation, I felt I could with some honesty assure Mother that, yes, I was happy.

            I rounded a bend. The cliff that ran along the northern perimeter of the beach jutted suddenly out into the surf like a thin pointed arm. I’d have to clamber over the uneven, rocky outcrop to continue my walk. I managed to get atop a flat ledge unscathed and breathed a sigh of relief. I looked out over the expanse of water before me. It was vast, endless. That was the only way to describe it. No beginning and no end, just like God. I found a relatively level spot that afforded a place to lean back on and sat down, drawing my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. I hadn’t realized how much I needed a short rest.

            Looking out at the infinite expanse before me, I realized all that water was just the tip of the iceberg. There’s a whole world below that undulating curtain. People were like that too, I reflected. There’s so much more to people than what you see on the surface. There’s depth in everyone, even those who seem shallow. Experiences, feelings, the way life knocks a person around, like the waves that beat now against these rocks, shape a person and give them a unique depth of character and value. I watched as some waves reached a full crest and broke squarely, fiercely on the surface of the rocks while others just rolled along almost in a caress. I considered that life was the same way with people. Sometimes life slaps you hard with some sort of calamity or hardship. Other times it carries you along like a magic carpet. Some people seem to have an unfair share of crashes.  Others, who seemed to be always riding on a magic carpet, you wish would experience a crash or two to humble them or teach them a lesson. But who are we to judge what a crash would do to an individual? That was God’s job and it was best to leave those things up to Him.

            The sun was no respecter of time, and shadows had lengthened significantly as I’d sat ruminating on the scene before me. “Move on,” I commanded myself. Rising somewhat stiffly and stretching, I managed to retrace my steps along the rocky ledge and get back to level sand without incident. A breeze came up filled with the smells of the sea and for a while as I headed back I didn’t think about anything except the sun, the breeze and the sounds surrounding me. It all served to transport me back to my childhood when I’d spent summer vacations on a beach like this. I could almost smell the scent of Coppertone and feel the sensation of suntan lotion mingled with sand as I rubbed it on my arms.

            Slowly my earlier train of thought drifted back to my conscious mind—happiness. When had I really started struggling with this feeling? Probably some time in my late thirties. Times were hard then, financially hard at least. It’s difficult to feel happy when you are standing in a long line with strangers waiting to receive free food. I acknowledged that since those days and for what seemed like a long time now, I not only hadn’t felt happy, most days I hadn’t felt much of anything. Something in me had gone numb.

            Somehow, somewhere I’d accepted what I’d mollified my mother with, that the absence of stress and acute sadness was good enough for me. I was ok not being happy. I believed it was my lot in life. Oh, I still had times of merriment and lightheartedness. However, that was largely, if not solely, a function of my basic personality and the fact that down deep I liked myself. With all the challenges I faced I still had that at least. This thought brought a wider smile to my face. Believe it or not, I confessed to the gulls as they pulled crabs from the sand, deep down I was basically a happy person, easy to please, easily amused. Hmmmm, a happy person who can’t relate to happiness. How incongruous! Leave it to me to walk contentedly in contradiction, always graying the lines of reality.            

            My heart was a bit lighter having had this time to work out some of these thoughts long buried beneath the “day-to-day grind”. I heard a noise and saw a young family coming onto the beach, blanket, picnic basket and bucket and shovel in hand. I turned, shading my eyes, and watched as Dad and Mom laughed together watching their little one run toward the water. Maybe happiness isn’t really a myth, but a choice like Abraham Lincoln said. It is deciding to live at times in the moment and glean what we can from the good times God gives us. I have little control over what will happen in the last part of my life. I can, however, decide how I chose to live out those days, and no longer resign myself to embracing negatives, but learn how to walk quietly through the remainder of my time on earth having the joy of the Lord be my strength.