Happy

"I had lunch with and old friend last week," she told me. "And she asked me when was the last time I was happy. I had to think and decided it was two years ago."

I have to admit to being no less than stunned. I try to keep the temperature of my friends, from both near and afar. But I didn't really see this coming. Two years without happy just didn't seem like her. She always tried to present strong and self reliant. And to just admit to a dearth of happiness caught me off guard.

But it's something I ponder quite often. I have long kept my mind on a paraphrase that I think is Emerson. In essence, "most men lives of quiet desperation."

It was just not what I wanted. And nothing like what I'd hope for my friends. Even if I can't label myself happy, I'd like to see it in them.

I do watch closely. In the immediate vicinity, I watch eyes and actions. I see when they openly laugh. I see when their eyes glitter. We all have ups and downs, but when laughter and glitter are gone for too long, I wonder about their happiness.

I do it from afar. I read old girlfriends' blogs trying to get a handle on their lives. I quickly understand I'm much more confessional in what I write in public. But just sitting to put anything down says something to me about their strength, which I believe comes from happiness. I drop hints in emails. Some people like to keep a little emotional distance. They like email for that exact reason. But subject matter and phrase of expression can tell a lot even in those block letters.

I fail to keep too close tabs on my happiness on purpose. Maybe I don't want to know. Because it frustrates me. Maybe it's part of what makes me watch for everyone else's happiness. Because I fully understand, it's hard.

I've been financially secure and it didn't bring happiness. I've had success and didn't find it created happiness. I've been in love and found a modicum of happiness but not the type we seem to believe from fairy tales. I've been told I refuse happiness. I'm not that self aware to agree or disagree.

Now lack of happiness cannot be called unhappiness. I guess I call the in between the state of just being. Maybe that's Emerson's "quiet desperation." It's never where I've wanted to be. I've often told people who claim I inflict my challenges upon myself that I understand it's easier to ride the high middle rise in the road, but I'd rather bounce from bar ditch to bar ditch just because it's more fun to see what's everywhere.

My original friend told me the story to see if I could up with recommendations for happiness. I haven't stopped thinking about it in the weeks since. I just have no answers. Not for her or myself. I sometimes wonder if I'd be standing in the middle of happiness and never even know it. But I'd like to try. Just so I could tell someone else all about it.