another awful day in berkeley: the happiness conundrum

Another awful day in Berkeley — with one exception.  Brunch with a friend.  One of those friends that you really talk to.  One of those friends who both listens and talks. We were talking about 'happiness.'  Did you see that?  I just put 'happiness' in quotes.  There. Now I've done it twice.  It was either going to be quotation marks, or it was going to be italics. I'm not sure which is worse.

Italicized happiness I think implies only emphasis intended.

'Happiness' in quotes means I think it's a crock.

That's what we were talking about.  Not happiness as a crock, but that I can't just let it be.

The problem at hand being that I'm happy.  Which is making me unhappy.  The problem isn't the happiness itself. It's a sustainability issue.  I'm actually happier with the pursuit of happiness — not the happiness itself.

My friend said those terrible words:

just enjoy it

And all I could think of was, well, you just don't understand.

Jewish here.

Can I blame that?  No probably not.  I do have a Jewish friend who's downright happy most of the time. She's got this fabulous authentic smile, a great life, she's smart, talented, bakes cakes. Belly dancer.  She's fun.  She's happy.

I think she's an exception to the rule.

What I was telling my friend is that through all the death and dying traumas of the last two years, I've just plain coped magnificently (or at least fairly well) under pressure (and with help) — and just taken one problem after another and been competent, efficient, and helpful.  I haven't fallen.  Haven't resorted to drinking. Haven't called a therapist (the Jewish equivalent to drinking).

But a month or two of happiness? Surely time for psychotherapy.

He didn't understand this at all.

just enjoy it

Unclear on the concept.  It's the sustainability thing that gets me.

The optimist expects more of the same. More happiness. And why not? If we can do it now, we can do it later.  If we're careful. If we pay attention. Right?

The pessimist (that would be me) expects nothing at all. And that nothing at all leads to great joy at the littlest thing — since it was so unexpected.  To expect happiness — well, first of all it's rude. Presumptuous. We need low expectations to be (accidentally) happy. We need happiness to sneak up on us and scare the shit out of us.

I think pessimist happiness is a happier sort of happy. If that makes any sense.  Because we're in such shock.

But tell us to expect more of the same?  Too much pressure.  Tell us to just enjoy it?  Not dissect it. Not analyze it. Actually, that's part of the problem.  It's so much easier to write about misery than happiness.  I mean, happiness.  What's there to say?

I think that's the problem: all the awful little stories that I love to write — they've all just flown my head.  I sit down to write, and — too happy to write.  Why would I want to sit down and write some dreary tale, when I'm too blissed out even to sit down.

Happiness.  It's ruining my writing.  Any more of this, and I'll be a complete illiterate blubbering in the corner spewing nothing more than 'vomit factor' dribble.  Definition of 'vomit factor' in case you missed it: the gooeyness that people in love spew out in public that nobody wants to be around.  It's just too sappy.  And that's where we've been heading: happy sappy brainless spew.

just enjoy it?

My brain is melting.

So. It was good, then, I suppose, that I had a really shitty day in Berkeley today.  Back at the Republic of Berkeley Parking Division. Turned out they returned all my applications and checks for Caregiver Parking Permits.  This time, I got parking right in front of the building.  Right at the door!  Paid my parking meter up full, expecting another long wait, but this time I was going to get-something-accomplished.

They were closed, of course. Thus the good parking spot.  Closed on Fridays.  I do believe the city just can't pay workers for more than four days work per week.  Every office except one is closed on Fridays. Monday's a holiday. Come back no sooner than Tuesday. I had a nice long chat with the doorman, however, about the woes of city employees in the Republic of Berkeley.

That's how the bad day started. And it went downhill from there.  I've actually promised myself that I wouldn't write about it. Wouldn't explain it. But without that, it just eats away my insides.  More to the point, is that I handled 'it' (the awfulness) with grace and even humor.  I did the troubleshooting. Ran interference. Apologized for the insulting rudeness of others.  Took-care-of-business...

I'm so good at it.  Gimme a good shitty day, and I can turn it around and save it.

What do you get to do with happiness?  I mean, really.  What are you supposed to do about it?

Oh. Right.

just enjoy it

Fine.

Fine.  I'll do that.  But my writing's going clear to hell.

misunderstanding pessimism: a manifesto of sorts

The NYT has run a number of articles lately on optimism and pessimism, including one entitled, "Is your Dog an Optimist or a Pessimist." Which was an incredibly depressing article. Another, which ran today (but disappeared before I could find it again) spent a lot of time explaining why optimists live longer. Go figure.

Actually, what the article said is that optimists take better care of themselves. In the expectation of longevity, they eat better, sleep better — and don't head for the chocolate when things get rough. They're less likely to have high blood pressure or to die from heart disease or diabetes.

Seems to me that having diabetes in itself would be the big bummer. Maybe we have a cause / effect disjuncture here. Maybe the pessimists have simply experienced the pain first hand — or been raised on it. Maybe pessimists were raised on what "they" did to "our" people? Inquisitions. Holocausts. Colonialisms of one kind or another. Genocides.

But for those we have Viktor Frankel, don't we? And I won't let the optimists claim him. While it is true that finding meaning in one's suffering can make it more bearable, this surely, is not the same as optimism. It means, I think, that activating our intellect — analysis of one kind or another — engages us more than it helps us 'endure.' Existential therapies focus on the big four: death, freedom, isolation, and meaninglessness.

But does contemplating these make us pessimists or philosophers?

I have a personal grudge against optimism. I admit it. My problem is that optimists use words like 'faith' and 'hope' more often than is empirically warranted. It seems to me that 'faith' and 'hope' are seriously fluffy categories. I know this sounds a bit grumpy, but hear me out.

I think about it as the five faiths:

Faith in others.

Faith in self.

Faith in society.

Faith in the planet.

Faith in the universe.


Faith in others: In this regard, there is an expectation that others will step up to the plate, unasked or even unexpected, and 'do the right thing.' What this 'right thing' is, however, is some fantasy in the individual's mind. It's the guess-what-I'm-thinking bit. The just-take-care-of-me bit. The read-my-mind bit. I've fallen into this trap myself. Assumed that others understood what I thought was obvious. But no. What we really need here is a little less faith in others, and a lot more clear communication with them instead.

Faith in self: Another sloppy category. This one is better handled with preparation. And doing one's homework. With paying attention. With diligence. Research. Elbow-grease. Self-reliance. Yes, sounds grumpy again, doesn't it. But diligence is actually fun, and so is research. The difference between having faith that one will have a good birthing experience, for example, and actually preparing for childbirth — well, it's obvious which one has the greater survival value for both mother and child. Faith has nothing useful to offer here.

Faith in society: Currently out of fashion, whether on the left or the right. On the other hand, ambulances and fire trucks still show up on the scene. Public schools still exist to some extent. Maybe what's needed here is a little less faith in society and a lot more taxes to pay for services we expect society to provide. I'll throw in here (though you probably heartily disagree) a universal draft, for citizens of all genders, all levels of physical capacity. There's nothing like a draft to make us think long and hard about what is really worth fighting for.

Faith in the planet: (aka faith that the ecology will work itself out): This was James Lovelock's big mistake, was it not? In The Gaia Hypothesis, he postulated that the earth was a self-managerial system that kept itself in equilibrium. He described an intricate system of checks and balances, only to discover thereafter that it didn't work. He subsequently wrote The Revenge of Gaia, as if the planet had changed its mind. He claims we've reached the tipping point past which we'd better take action. The planet can no longer return itself to equilibrium. This book, which feels hastily written because according to Lovelock we no longer have much time — posits one necessary solution. But Lovelock's solution is so distasteful, that his book, well, it's just not doing that well, is it? People still want the warm and fuzzy solutions. Sorry — not warm. That, after all, is the problem.

Faith in the universe: In which we meet the god-conundrum. I'll leave this one to the likes of Dennet and Dawkins. Suffice it to say that those immersed in 'faith in the universe' are not the ones who spend their nocturnal insomnial hours looking up websites called things like "how the world will die" — nor are they up in the middle of the night doing the research to figure it out. Nor are they writing the articles. And meaninglessness is not a category that keeps optimists up at night, enthralled and energized.

They're the ones sleeping like babies.

In our house, that's only Vlad, our kitty. The dogs, after all, maintain a vigilance worthy of our admiration, not our psychological profiling.