Janet and I were discussing happiness. I was talking about something that had escaped me, but that I longed to recapture. She was talking about a fiction, a fantasy, a construct in which she placed no credence.
Time was short; we left lots unsaid. She urged me to write about it, and post it here.
I’m not a likely author for a piece on happiness. I’m not a particularly happy person, for one thing. Not as a rule, not in the moment. For another, there have been volumes written on the subject already, much of it by people far more light-hearted and enlightened than I. (Bobby McFerrin and the Dalai Lama spring to mind… well, to my mind, anyway.) So, this isn’t a “how-to” guide to the Blissful Life. I can’t draw a map to show how to get there. I don’t have the key to the Happy Kingdom in my pocket. Or maybe I do. Maybe we all do, but unless and until we realize that the brick walls in front of us are doors, the keys are no good to us.
I’ve often said and always believed that reality is a function of perspective. I believe it still, but that doesn’t mean I can will myself from depression to happiness. Depression isn’t a point of view. It’s an illness that presents as a point of view. A radically warped point of view. Another thing depression isn’t, is circumstantial. It’s so irresistibly logical to think, if I could change jobs, fix my house, improve my financial situation, get well, whatever, I’d be fine. But it isn’t so. Happiness isn’t contingent on the people or the conditions around us. The good life doesn’t guarantee happiness; bad luck doesn’t necessarily destroy it.
Maybe it didn’t banish the darkness and call in the light, but realizing that depression is genetic and biochemical and that my moods operate independent of sucky circumstances was… well, it was helpful. It meant that whether or not things get better, I’ll get better, sooner or later.
Better sooner. I’m doing what I can to speed things along.
– I’m challenging my negative thinking
When we’re depressed, our thoughts are not our friends. We can’t trust ‘em. We think we’re thinking clearly, but we’re not. We confuse our depressed thoughts about reality with reality. We confuse what we think with who we are. We forget that thinking is just something we do, an activity. When I find myself weeping over the past or staring into the black hole of the future in terror, I try to call a halt to the whole thinking thing and bring myself back to the moment — which is never as awful as the mis-remembered past or the dreaded future I’ve been dwelling on. I remind myself that my thoughts aren’t too reliable and do my best to ignore them. To quiet them. Happiness is born of a still mind.
– I’ve started a “pleasures” list.
First try, I only came up with two pleasures, and one of them wasn’t remotely possible. But I’ve added to the list since then, and I make sure I get in at least one “pleasure” each day. Several are distractions, rather than pleasures; I’ll settle for a pleasant distraction for now and worry about focussed serenity later. The simple pleasures are the easiest to manifest on a daily basis, like A Nice Cup of Tea. Some of my “pleasures” are things that used to work for me, but no longer do the trick. I engage in them anyway. I tell myself, “I’m not getting much from this right now, but if I keep doing the things I once enjoyed, I’ll start taking pleasure in them again, someday.”
That’s it. Start small, dream big.
During the too-brief conversation that sparked this post, a twangy, chirpy, remarkably persistent hummingbird insisted on adding her/his opinion. It took a while to spot the tiny creature, but Janet eventually spied it high in the spindly tree branches above us. Lest I imagine the omen was for her alone, a second hummingbird — another variety altogether — alit in the branches, as well. The dark newcomer flashed a few hot-pink feathers, then the two birds flew off in different directions.
Hummingbirds are messengers of the Gods, travellers between worlds, beings who help keep nature and spirit in balance. The Cochti tell this story:
Long, long ago, the people lost faith in the Great Mother. In anger, She held back the rain for four years. The people suffered greatly, as did all the creatures of the earth, except for one — Hummingbird. Hummingbird did not thirst, but thrived, despite the drought. Through their arts and magic, the shamans learned that Hummingbird knew a secret passageway to the underworld, where he would fly to gather honey. Further study revealed to the shamans that this doorway was open to Hummingbird alone, because Hummingbird had never lost faith in the Great Mother. Hummingbird’s faith inspired the people to regain their own. When their faith was restored, the Great Mother smiled, and took care of them once again.