The other day, I said to my husband, half-joking, “I’m going to be happy before I die, if it kills me!” For as long as I can remember, there’s been a little bit of sadness sitting in the back of my heart. I wanted it to go away. I read lots of self-help books and practiced gratitude. But then my book club scheduled a memoir I hadn’t picked up since college.
Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, describes the harrowing years he spent in Nazi concentration camps and the loss of his entire family, including his pregnant young wife. Not an optimist by nature, he still continued to write psychiatry texts while imprisoned and came to the conclusion that a good life is not necessarily a happy one.
In college, I learned from his book that each of us is responsible for deciding the meaning of our lives, and that it doesn’t come from outside us. This time, so many years later, I understood much more: that a meaningful life has creativity, love and appreciation of beauty, and dignity in the face of suffering. It doesn’t have to be happy.
Imagine being okay with that: not being happy.
Imagine a world without books and webinars and lectures on how to feel good every day. Imagine there’s nothing wrong with you if your clothes don’t spark joy or you don’t have a Vision Board. Imagine not trying to be happy but just being glad when it happens anyway.
Driving home on a sunny fall afternoon, I thought of my kids’ school days, and the struggles they went through. As their mother, I wanted them to be happy more than anything. But what made them the compassionate, self-sufficient men they are? The tough times when they were uncomfortably sad. Given the power today, I’d still smooth their road, and take away their pain if I could. But I’m haunted by the words of a heartbroken woman at the funeral of her young son who died of a drug overdose. “Feel your pain,” she implored his friends.
In the novel I’m writing now, the main character will struggle mightily before she learns that a good bit of heartache opens up her world. It’s been true for me. I’ve had many years of joy, love, creativity and ease. But if I’d been as happy as I wanted to be, I doubt I’d know what empathy is. I doubt I’d have compassion. And I doubt I’d be able to handle the hard stuff of life.
How about you? Would you choose, if you could, to be happy every day?
Comment on this post and I’ll put your name in a drawing for The Heirs by Fran Hawthorne, a novel about buried guilt and family secrets.
Linda C. Wisniewski 
14 responses to “Letting Go of Happy”
Spot on, Linda! The seasons of life that we go through—some easier than others—make us who we are. Complicated, loving, sometimes selfish, hopefully giving and compassionate humans. I strive for contentment in each day, and if there are some sparks of happiness I take them as a bonus!
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Thanks, Emily! Wishing you loads of contentment. 😉
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Maybe our expectations of the word ‘happy’ are too high! I think contentment, satisfaction, gratefulness, good health and loving are all parts of happy. We have to find the happy in every day, whether it be enjoying the sunshine, looking at a peaceful lake, sitting around a cozy fire, smiling at an innocent child or laughing at a wiggling puppy. It’s there. We have to notice it.
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Yes, Linda, noticing is key. Thanks for adding to the discussion.
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That book truly affected me, too. For him to go through so much and live in his mind to survive it. A good life is one where we can embrace tragedy and loss and continue on in love, for others and ourselves.
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Thanks for your thoughts, Donna! Frankl continues to inspire, so many years later.
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Barbara Ehrenreich’s book, Bright Sided: How Positive Thinking is Undermining America deals a lot with what you have written about. It took me a long time to realize that the constant striving to put on a happy face and be upbeat was killing me. I am somewhat melancholy by nature, and I have learned to accept it, mostly. Another great book along these lines is Lincoln’s Melancholy by Shenk. He argues that Lincoln’s melancholy contributed to his greatness. Unless it’s so bad it’s debilitating, sadness is not a negative thing.
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I had to smile, Dan, at your comment “constant striving…to be upbeat was killing me.” I can relate. Thanks for the book recommendations!
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This is a post for me to read again and again. May I make kindness and gratitude for what is my daily practice. Thanks, Linda.
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Glad to hear it was meaningful for you, Jeanne! Thanks for stopping by!
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This was very thought provoking for me! Happiness is always something to strive for, right? But reading this brings to light the part that pain, sadness and disappointment play in creating who we are. I watch my children raising my grandchildren and they strive even more than I did to make things “perfect” for them! As a baby boomer my friends and I always talk about the “helicopter parents” of today and how their children will be ill-equipped to go out into the world.
I have had my share of pain and sadness in my life, but that truly has given me the ability to be grateful for “all” my life and to live in the present every day…thanks Linda!
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Yes, ‘helicopter parents’ is a real thing these days. Thanks for bringing that up. I saw it a little while raising my younger son. Hard to stand back when they struggle, but necessary!
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Linda, I thoroughly agree with your premise. For twenty-five years, I have had pain from Fibromyalgia and as I have aged, other health issues have been added to the pile. As I yielded to the pain rather than fight it, I learned so much along the way. Other difficulties and trials have taught me about myself and the world around me. Over time, I discovered peace in the midst of the storms of life and rather than happiness, my daily goal is contentment, which for me is another word for peace. I just returned home from 10 days in the hospital for heart surgery and other heart issues. There was a great deal of pain and discomfort involved in the process and yet as I share with others about my experience I find myself speaking of the wonderful caregivers who attempted to make my stay as productive and comfortable as possible. During my stay, I asked nurses, CNAs and housekeeping folks about their lives and their day and listened to their stories. I rejoiced in every kindness and thanked people over and over again for every tiny or great ministration. I have discovered that thinking of others and being grateful and limiting my expectations have all helped me live a more fruitful life. Maybe that is my definition of happiness.
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Dear Bobbi, I am so sorry for all you’ve been through. Your attitude is terrific. And inspiring! Plus, you write about it so well. Wishing you peace, contentment and healing.
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