if you can't say anything nice...

... apparently, you just don't blog. I've had a bit of a grumpy cloud over my head this week. I don't really know why, but I have a nagging suspicion it had to do with a book I read about happiness. Yeah, that's messed up, isn't it? Well, here's the deal. I actually really enjoyed reading The Geography of Bliss: One Grump's Search for the Happiest Places in the World. I had been interested in reading it since I heard the author, Eric Weiner, interviewed on NPR some time ago. It went on my beloved Shelfari 'I Plan To Read' shelf, and then my online book club voted it as this month's read. I was so excited that not only did I have the motivation to read it at a particular time, but I'd also have people to discuss it with-- a huge added bonus. And since my fellow book club pals are some of my most regular readers here, let me point out ahead of time that none of this has anything to do with any of you personally. (That sounds somewhat foreshadowing of bad things to come, which I don't think is necessarily the case, but I really don't want any of you to misread what I say here!)

Before the official discussion opens at the book club's site, there are sometimes pre-discussion threads posted, and this time there was one:

Before you read the book, rate how happy you are, in general (not necessarily just today), on a scale from 1 to 10 (one being pretty depressed, ten being ecstatic). I think a gut reaction is okay, but I do want you to think about why you rated yourself the way you did. (You can share the reasoning if you want, but it's not required.)

I was the second person to respond to this, and I was somewhat hesitant to put a number out there for fear that I would be the lowest. The first number that popped into my head was a 6. But on further thought, that sounded horrifically low. So, I bumped it up one notch and finalized on a 7. Now, I don't really feel like getting into my several-years-long-dance with depression here, because quite frankly, it's depressing to think about. These days, that's not so much an issue, although I've been thinking lately that its buddy, anxiety, may be creeping back into my life with a greater intensity than I'm comfortable with. (I do happen to believe that a small dose of anxiety is healthy, at least for me, as a motivator and a protector... but that's a whole other train of thought.)

So, back to me and my 7. My short post addressed my nagging feeling that I don't have full control over my emotions-- I don't think I can simply choose how to feel. Now, I know that most people would vehemently disagree with this, but the way I look at it, for me personally, is this-- I can have a situation, whatever it may be, and I can look at it from a logical, cognitive perspective. I can make lists (till the cows come home, people!) of possible actions I can take to address the situation. I can even choose to take no action, if that seems the most effective solution. BUT-- regardless of what I choose, I still feel the way that I feel. If someone dislikes me-- even if I don't have any respect for the person in the first place-- it still hurts my feelings intensely. If I feel that an injustice has taken place in regard to someone I love, I experience deep anger, regardless of what my logical mind says to choose to do. Maybe that's the best way to describe it-- I experience my feelings with great intensity. Just thinking about a particular long-standing and unresolved issue in my life causes my heart to race, my face to flush and my head to pulsate. And that's just me thinking about it to myself in my head. No joke, guys - you know how some people have extra-sensitive taste buds or hearing, I think I could qualify for that when it comes to emotions.

So, given that ridiculously long description of my intense emotions, I feel like the regular frustrations in my life loom large at times, so I could not put myself any higher than a 7. You know Lewis Black? The angry comedian who gestures wildly with his hands throughout his rants on The Daily Show? Yeah, I L-O-V-E that guy. One could say that everything pisses him off, but I see it as only the awful crap in the world pisses him off, and sadly, there's no shortage of that these days. Ironic as it may appear, I actually enjoy listening to his rants because it affirms the fact that I'm not alone in getting extremely frustrated with the ridiculous things out there. But I'm getting off on another tangent here, so let me circle the wagons back.

Me and my 7 were out there on the book club thread (and to be frank, I was beginning to worry that I had actually aimed too high, and that 6 was looking more and more accurate), and I anxiously awaited the responses of my fellow book lovers. As they began appearing as many 8's, 9's and a few 10's, (with one or two 7's showing their faces as well), I really started to feel out of place. Almost everyone talked about choosing to feel happy, even in the face of struggles and difficulties in their lives, or perhaps most especially during those times. One question rang out in my head over and over-- What's wrong with me??? No disrespect meant to anyone in my book club-- those are their personal assessments of their own feelings, and have nothing to do with mine. But, I still feel so very differently when I think about my own general happiness. Don't get me wrong, I consider myself a moderately happy person, but I also am aware of an undercurrent of frustration, sadness and ire that is always with me. It flares up at different times, in response to different things-- situations in my own personal life, as well as things on a larger scale in politics and world affairs (why I often find myself yelling at my radio while I cook dinner). When the undercurrent rises, it bubbles over and comes to the surface, and those anti-happy feelings make themselves apparent.

Now, I am fully aware at this point that I'm bordering on sounding like a complete lunatic, and I'm not even sure that I'm articulating my own interpretations about my feelings well enough to make sense to anyone outside of my own head. (And, for the record, there are no people living in my head right now... I don't need that added to my lunatic status!) But there it is, nonetheless. As I've been thinking about my own definition of happiness, I've inevitably been comparing it to the perspectives expressed by my book club friends. In one sense I worry (as I do about most areas in life) that I am somehow coming up short. That there is a right way to be, and they have all obviously found the solution and are blissfully living at points 8, 9, and 10. But I have started to think about it differently lately, and this is perhaps my impetus right now for coming out from under that grumpy cloud. Maybe for me, this isn't a scale that has an ending point. Maybe there's no best place to be. Maybe a 10 isn't what's right for one person, even if it's just perfect for another. (No offense again guys, but I asked lovely hubby where he'd rate himself, and I was really relieved when it was not a 10-- I joked that I didn't think I could live with a partner who was a 10!) Perhaps the number is not an actual value-- 10 is greater than 7-- but more of a perspective. Whether I choose it or not, I think a 7 (and sometimes a 6) is simply the most accurate spot for my viewpoint, and that doesn't mean that the happiness I experience is any less valuable than others, it simply is accompanied by a different share of other emotions.

Man, I don't know what I said in all that-- too many words just to say this: I've been kinda down lately thinking that I'm not choosing to be happy enough like other people, so all that thinking about not being happy made me really unhappy. But now I'm turning a corner and thinking that my level of happiness simply is what it is because that's who I am. Overall, my life is great, and for that I am happy, but I am also the product of a slew of other intensely experienced emotions as well. Does that mean I'm choosing to be happy about not being as happy as other people? Hmmm... I can't help but wonder what Lewis Black would say about all this...

Moderately happily yours,

Postscript from the next day: I think I snorted a bit of OJ up my nose from reading this at breakfast this morning. Appropriately timed, no?