I couldn't set out without reading your lovely latest. I'm off to a week of solitude in the mountains of western NC. I think that will bring some happiness. But happy schmappy, at least I won't hear leaf-blowers. over the sound of cicadas.
Another relatable piece, Rona. I'm not sure I aspire to "happiness" as much as I seek to feel grateful and at peace. With that lens, I'm open to appreciating the beauty of the world around me. It's been a life's work to reach those states. Physical and mental downward dogs help :) As does cultivating an ability to choose my thoughts and reactions.
Margaret, I think we’re using different words to describe the same state. One reason I took such a dim view of “happiness” is that it seemed air-headed to me.
Agreed. At the same time, I envied people who seemed happy with so little effort. It seemed to me that life would be easier if I was "happier," whatever that meant. Thanks for another great post!
I'm wondering whether "joy" might replace "happiness" here. We're all such word-y people, but it seems important to me. Happiness seems to me to have more froth, joy more depth. (All of which makes me wonder, speaking of froth, whether there's still a dish detergent called Joy. Or did Madison Ave bail on that one?) Frothily yours, Ruth
Joy detergent is still around (just checked). I asked myself the same question. "Happiness" was good enough for Jane Kenyon, and the much sunnier but also wonderful Laurie Colwin used it too,. One could wander down a deep rabbit hole researching definitions of "happiness" and "joy" to compare and contrast.
Both are states of mind that we get to choose. As Victor Frankl said in the Germany concentration camp, (paraphrased) 'They can take EVERYTHING away from me, but they CANNOT take my right to choose my own attitude!"
Socrates and Plato said that the measure of a loved lived well is flourishing. I have found this to be a far better approach to life than seeking happiness. How is happiness measured? But to flourish seems a more practical idea.
I think I was born with a tendency towards happiness – and certainly towards optimism, which goes with it hand in hand. My mother told me I would walk down the street age 2 with a big smile on my face and everyone would smile back. Of course, such traits get knocked back from time to time, but the instinctive optimism always helps me back onto my emotional feet (not an elegant phrase, but you know what I mean).
The fact that I have had a relatively easy and happy life has probably increased the natural optimism. Indeed, my recent moniker of the Granny Who Stands on her Head is intended to convey that spirit (although a friend suggested that it also implied someone who looked at things from another point of view, which I liked). And yet, I love melancholy music, poems, stories, movies etc etc and think melancholy people (of whom there have been many in my life) are more interesting. A good friend (and a therapist by profession) recognised this in me and when, in her last years, she became much happier she worried I wouldn't like her anymore.
Interesting post, as always – sets the old brain cells working...
How fascinating that a therapist feared happiness would make her less appealing in your eyes. In an earlier version of this post, I wrote about the conflict inherent in melancholia. You want something and there's an obstacle in the way. The gap between things as they are and as you think they should be is full of stories. No conflict, no story. I think that's why, for story-minded people, happiness can seem boring, or at least less interesting than melancholia. I decided not to take this tangent, as the piece was getting long.
Been cleaning up my small garden and thinking a bit more. I was never the fastest of thinkers, but my thoughts do come, so please allow me to extend your comments section even further. There's something about melancholic people that seems deep – as if they see deeper into things than we easily happy people do, that they understand things better, that they KNOW something profound. The older I get, the more I distrust this equation, which has slightly dogged me all my life (I am happy, therefore I am superficial) because I think I don't fit that stereotype, but it's amazing how long it takes to fight it. (There's some 'amazement' for the seeker!)
Agreed, at an intellectual level. I will never know the feelings of one naturally inclined toward happiness. My friend James, a sunny soul, was in no way superficial. He read widely and engaged deeply with authors who moved him. A superficial person with a terminal illness would not aspire to learn Russian for the purpose of reading Tolstoy.
There is, I believe, another child in the painting, in the shade, in the shadow. For centuries, the Japanese respected and supported the Melancolic Soul - until modern American psychiatry arrived on their shore and branded it a mental illness. Am I a melancolic soul? I was cast as Eeyore in the school show. Great piece. Thank you.
You're right about the other child, who's difficult to see. I didn't know about the Japanese respect for melancholy, which is not the same as depression and should not be pathologized.
Rona, this was absolutely lovely. I was/am one of those melancholic dreamers as a girl/young woman and I had to work at letting the sunny side of my nature come forth. I am sure you know Susan Cain's Bittersweet which totally resonated with me. At 64, I am now getting reacquainted with that younger wistful self in her late teens and 20s; in fact, Amy at 24 and Amy at 64 are not so very different.
Friends, it seems a few of you have drawn the conclusion that I continue to struggle with depression. I've done a bit of rewriting to clarify that melancholy is not an illness. I consider myself a healthy person who'd be wise to keep up good mental habits in order to experience happiness.
I am quite certain I was never the golden child in the painting. Happiness is fleeting at best, and has no set definition. A feeling of contentment is what I strive to achieve. I have only felt it once or twice, but I remember thinking "This is it," and wishing I could have that feeling forever...but it would have had no meaning if I had not felt pain, sorrow, angst, depression and a truckload of self doubt. I find that having a good sense of humor, a quick wit, and a well-honed love of sarcasm is key to my ability to confont the demon of melancholy, and helps me get through any times when I'm feeling down. I focus my feelings of misery into my writing, but I find that I usually imbue my protagonists with the same humor, wit, and sarcasm that have gotten me through life thus far.
You put it so beautifully, Rona. I too am a lifelong melancholic; gardening and trail walking bring me those moments of joy, as long as I remember to look, and to record them.
I was chronically depressed and anxiety ridden. Then I began therapy around 30 (and later medication) to help. I learned what caused my problems but that didn’t help. What did help was realizing I didn’t have to continue that way. I also decided my real goal should be contentment. No one can be happy all the time but you can be content. That’s where I am now. Strive for that.
As airline pilots say, “Flying is hours of boredom punctuated by moments of abject terror.”
There will be peaks and valleys in every day. I like my life most of the time (contentment), love my life in flashes and have regular encounters with melancholy.
Pat, my story is similar but didn’t get help until 50 when it got to be too heavy to hold anymore. I was fortunate to find what I needed to thrive and have a good life full of contentment, very grateful even for the occasional lows.
What a glorious comment section in reply to a rich and wonderful essay … rich in the sense of full of wisdom. I thank the internet daily for allowing people from all over to come together, read engaging, informative, enriching words and then share their own thoughts and outlook. It’s like a seminar for lovers of ideas and thinking! Thank you all and especially Rona. My day id complete!
Oooh, I love that Freudian slip. May your id burst forth and do handstands! Thank you, Christine. The comment section is always a joy for me. Readers notice so much, and share so freely what they've learned in their rich, rewarding and sometimes wildly frustrating lives.
Lovely. I fight every day to not be down, melancholic, sad, depressed or anxious. Mostly I succeed, but it takes work. You've encapsulated the struggle with poetic resonance, and for that I thank you.
Rona, what a blessing you are to everyone! Your keen insights both teach and entertain! Today's gem: "He had a child’s sense of wonder, and it must have endeared him to the kids he treated as a pediatric neurologist." May we all once again find "a child's sense of wonder!'
Such a beautiful post. I had never thought of it before, but I feel like I am also a melancholic soul. I've struggled with depression my entire life, but I have these moments of pure bliss - to the point where I feel like crying - and they're simple moments: watching a pair of cardinals on my lawn, constructing the perfect sentence in my novel, smelling the blooming lilacs. Sometimes I'm lucky and I'll have a few days in a row of happiness and contentment, but something always seems to derail me. And worse, I beat myself up for it and think, "why can't you just be content?" Perhaps I'm better off by accepting this melancholic nature of mine.
I couldn't set out without reading your lovely latest. I'm off to a week of solitude in the mountains of western NC. I think that will bring some happiness. But happy schmappy, at least I won't hear leaf-blowers. over the sound of cicadas.
Birdsong awaits you. Here’s to a restorative getaway. Thanks for stopping by, Eileen,
Another relatable piece, Rona. I'm not sure I aspire to "happiness" as much as I seek to feel grateful and at peace. With that lens, I'm open to appreciating the beauty of the world around me. It's been a life's work to reach those states. Physical and mental downward dogs help :) As does cultivating an ability to choose my thoughts and reactions.
Margaret, I think we’re using different words to describe the same state. One reason I took such a dim view of “happiness” is that it seemed air-headed to me.
Agreed. At the same time, I envied people who seemed happy with so little effort. It seemed to me that life would be easier if I was "happier," whatever that meant. Thanks for another great post!
I'm wondering whether "joy" might replace "happiness" here. We're all such word-y people, but it seems important to me. Happiness seems to me to have more froth, joy more depth. (All of which makes me wonder, speaking of froth, whether there's still a dish detergent called Joy. Or did Madison Ave bail on that one?) Frothily yours, Ruth
Joy detergent is still around (just checked). I asked myself the same question. "Happiness" was good enough for Jane Kenyon, and the much sunnier but also wonderful Laurie Colwin used it too,. One could wander down a deep rabbit hole researching definitions of "happiness" and "joy" to compare and contrast.
Both are states of mind that we get to choose. As Victor Frankl said in the Germany concentration camp, (paraphrased) 'They can take EVERYTHING away from me, but they CANNOT take my right to choose my own attitude!"
Socrates and Plato said that the measure of a loved lived well is flourishing. I have found this to be a far better approach to life than seeking happiness. How is happiness measured? But to flourish seems a more practical idea.
Do you know the book FLOURISH by Martin Seligman, a leader in the positive psychology movement? Wise and useful.
I think I was born with a tendency towards happiness – and certainly towards optimism, which goes with it hand in hand. My mother told me I would walk down the street age 2 with a big smile on my face and everyone would smile back. Of course, such traits get knocked back from time to time, but the instinctive optimism always helps me back onto my emotional feet (not an elegant phrase, but you know what I mean).
The fact that I have had a relatively easy and happy life has probably increased the natural optimism. Indeed, my recent moniker of the Granny Who Stands on her Head is intended to convey that spirit (although a friend suggested that it also implied someone who looked at things from another point of view, which I liked). And yet, I love melancholy music, poems, stories, movies etc etc and think melancholy people (of whom there have been many in my life) are more interesting. A good friend (and a therapist by profession) recognised this in me and when, in her last years, she became much happier she worried I wouldn't like her anymore.
Interesting post, as always – sets the old brain cells working...
How fascinating that a therapist feared happiness would make her less appealing in your eyes. In an earlier version of this post, I wrote about the conflict inherent in melancholia. You want something and there's an obstacle in the way. The gap between things as they are and as you think they should be is full of stories. No conflict, no story. I think that's why, for story-minded people, happiness can seem boring, or at least less interesting than melancholia. I decided not to take this tangent, as the piece was getting long.
Been cleaning up my small garden and thinking a bit more. I was never the fastest of thinkers, but my thoughts do come, so please allow me to extend your comments section even further. There's something about melancholic people that seems deep – as if they see deeper into things than we easily happy people do, that they understand things better, that they KNOW something profound. The older I get, the more I distrust this equation, which has slightly dogged me all my life (I am happy, therefore I am superficial) because I think I don't fit that stereotype, but it's amazing how long it takes to fight it. (There's some 'amazement' for the seeker!)
Agreed, at an intellectual level. I will never know the feelings of one naturally inclined toward happiness. My friend James, a sunny soul, was in no way superficial. He read widely and engaged deeply with authors who moved him. A superficial person with a terminal illness would not aspire to learn Russian for the purpose of reading Tolstoy.
Happiness definitely takes effort for me too. This helped. Art helps. Those Bonnards are exquisite.
I'm delighted you enjoyed the Bonnards, Victoria. They are delicious.
I'm definitely a happy to begin with type, but the news of the world can surely depress me. Loved the post, the poem, and the art. Onward!
Yes. The word "weltschmerz" (world pain) applies to this particular kind of sorrow and fear.
Yes, I related to that!
There is, I believe, another child in the painting, in the shade, in the shadow. For centuries, the Japanese respected and supported the Melancolic Soul - until modern American psychiatry arrived on their shore and branded it a mental illness. Am I a melancolic soul? I was cast as Eeyore in the school show. Great piece. Thank you.
You're right about the other child, who's difficult to see. I didn't know about the Japanese respect for melancholy, which is not the same as depression and should not be pathologized.
Yes, thank you. I see him now. They are fascinating paintings.
Rona, this was absolutely lovely. I was/am one of those melancholic dreamers as a girl/young woman and I had to work at letting the sunny side of my nature come forth. I am sure you know Susan Cain's Bittersweet which totally resonated with me. At 64, I am now getting reacquainted with that younger wistful self in her late teens and 20s; in fact, Amy at 24 and Amy at 64 are not so very different.
Friends, it seems a few of you have drawn the conclusion that I continue to struggle with depression. I've done a bit of rewriting to clarify that melancholy is not an illness. I consider myself a healthy person who'd be wise to keep up good mental habits in order to experience happiness.
I am quite certain I was never the golden child in the painting. Happiness is fleeting at best, and has no set definition. A feeling of contentment is what I strive to achieve. I have only felt it once or twice, but I remember thinking "This is it," and wishing I could have that feeling forever...but it would have had no meaning if I had not felt pain, sorrow, angst, depression and a truckload of self doubt. I find that having a good sense of humor, a quick wit, and a well-honed love of sarcasm is key to my ability to confont the demon of melancholy, and helps me get through any times when I'm feeling down. I focus my feelings of misery into my writing, but I find that I usually imbue my protagonists with the same humor, wit, and sarcasm that have gotten me through life thus far.
So well put, Betsy. Humor is a survival skill.
You put it so beautifully, Rona. I too am a lifelong melancholic; gardening and trail walking bring me those moments of joy, as long as I remember to look, and to record them.
Recording is important, as is sharing. It magnifies the glow. And if you save the photos and vignettes, you’ll have them when you need a boost.
Yes, true! My phone is filled with beautiful photos.
The quote from William James reminds me of Hamlet: "For there is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so."
The eye for the tragic and the absurd makes us writers; the eye that recognizes beauty makes us human.
Right, Christine. Every transformative idea has deep roots. Milton also made this point in Paradise Lost: "The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
I was chronically depressed and anxiety ridden. Then I began therapy around 30 (and later medication) to help. I learned what caused my problems but that didn’t help. What did help was realizing I didn’t have to continue that way. I also decided my real goal should be contentment. No one can be happy all the time but you can be content. That’s where I am now. Strive for that.
As airline pilots say, “Flying is hours of boredom punctuated by moments of abject terror.”
There will be peaks and valleys in every day. I like my life most of the time (contentment), love my life in flashes and have regular encounters with melancholy.
Sounds like a metaphor for life from time to time!
Pat, my story is similar but didn’t get help until 50 when it got to be too heavy to hold anymore. I was fortunate to find what I needed to thrive and have a good life full of contentment, very grateful even for the occasional lows.
Christine, I'm glad you've broken free of the heaviness, with the help you needed. Never too late.
What a glorious comment section in reply to a rich and wonderful essay … rich in the sense of full of wisdom. I thank the internet daily for allowing people from all over to come together, read engaging, informative, enriching words and then share their own thoughts and outlook. It’s like a seminar for lovers of ideas and thinking! Thank you all and especially Rona. My day id complete!
Freudian slip? My day IS complete! 😂
Oooh, I love that Freudian slip. May your id burst forth and do handstands! Thank you, Christine. The comment section is always a joy for me. Readers notice so much, and share so freely what they've learned in their rich, rewarding and sometimes wildly frustrating lives.
It’s a wonderful community! 💕
Lovely. I fight every day to not be down, melancholic, sad, depressed or anxious. Mostly I succeed, but it takes work. You've encapsulated the struggle with poetic resonance, and for that I thank you.
Thank you, Claudette. This was hard to write. Glad it worked.
Rona, what a blessing you are to everyone! Your keen insights both teach and entertain! Today's gem: "He had a child’s sense of wonder, and it must have endeared him to the kids he treated as a pediatric neurologist." May we all once again find "a child's sense of wonder!'
You’d have enjoyed him, Bob. As a passenger in his car, not so much.
Such a beautiful post. I had never thought of it before, but I feel like I am also a melancholic soul. I've struggled with depression my entire life, but I have these moments of pure bliss - to the point where I feel like crying - and they're simple moments: watching a pair of cardinals on my lawn, constructing the perfect sentence in my novel, smelling the blooming lilacs. Sometimes I'm lucky and I'll have a few days in a row of happiness and contentment, but something always seems to derail me. And worse, I beat myself up for it and think, "why can't you just be content?" Perhaps I'm better off by accepting this melancholic nature of mine.
What you’re feeling is what many of us feel. You are not failing. Here you are, writing a novel.
Thank you. Writing keeps me sane.