Obsessed With Happiness

Last week I listened to an interview on KQED Forum about whether people with children are happier than people who do not have children.  The answer, it turns out, is no.  In fact, Michael Krasny reported in his signature professor's tone, people with children may in fact be less happy.

This study that was done, in addition to the book written as a response to that study, All Joy and No Fun, by Jennifer Senior, did not surprise me in the least.  

The interview with Senior was a good one; she discussed the nuances of parenthood, the hundreds of parents from all walks of life she interviewed, her own personal take on the results, and so on.  She pointed out that we all have different rulers by which we measure our happiness, that perhaps we put too much pressure on ourselves to be happy.  The callers to the program ranged from overwhelmed by and regretful of their parenting duties to outraged that anyone would dare be unhappy as a parent.

Later that week I came across a Huffington Post blog that discusses the downside of parenting.  This woman says that she is not always happy to be doing her mothering duties, and that that is okay; we should, she insists, be able to talk about how unhappy we are with particular aspects of motherhood.  In fact, she confesses, sometimes she is downright miserable, and that is okay, she assures us.

In the last few weeks there have been dozens of other radio shows, articles, books, and blogs that have come my way about this very issue:  happy parents?  happy children?  rageful mother?  depressed children?

The question that began to formulate in my head from the beginning of the All Joy No Fun interview is still ringing in my ears:

Why does it matter?

We as a society have become entirely too obsessed with our feelings.

We cannot help ourselves when someone says he or she is happy, we have to compare our own feelings to his or hers.

I do understand comparing a lot of things, specifically when you are working toward goals and others are achieving those same goals.  I want to run an hour a day, and I see a mother in a situation similar to mine who gets it done.  "Great," I think, "if she can do it, so can I."

But when did we start comparing our happiness to that of others?  How can you possibly measure your own feelings next to someone else's?  We are all unique unto ourselves, different experiences, different backgrounds, different desires, different emotional makeups.  Something that makes me joyous could make another mother in a similar situation simply shrug.  My imaginary jogging competition may hate running an hour a day, but she does it to lose weight or stay fit.  I, on the other hand, look forward to every time my shoes pound the pavement, I am exhilarated by the runner's high I get.  Then I go eat an entire milk chocolate caramel bar because damn it tastes so good.  

I did not become a mother to be happy.  I did not marry my husband to be happy.  I did not get my graduate degree to be happy.  I do not go to work to be happy.  But I worked hard to bring those things into my life, and I work hard at them daily because they fulfill me.

Am I a happy person?  In general, yes, I would say I am happy overall, but it is because I have built my life around being fulfilled, and I do fulfilling things every day.

My number one wish, aside from good health, is not that my child be happy, but that she find purpose.

I think it all comes back to this excessive sense of individualism we have come to in this country.  Are my needs being met?  Did I get what I want?  Will this make me happy?  Are you happy at your job?  Are you happy being a parent?  Are you sad?  Why are you sad?  Give every child a trophy, so each will be happy and not sad.    

I don't spend my day thinking about whether I am happy or sad, angry or joyous.  I get up, and I find ways to both get done what needs to be done and take time to rest in between bouts of work.  I have found that I work better and have a capacity to work harder, at any given thing, if I take time to rest and reflect.

And yes, the vast majority of the time, if I was asked, I would say, at any given moment, that I am happy.

But who cares?

My life would make someone else miserable.  Someone else's "happy" life would drive me crazy.

In the end, we are asking the wrong questions.  Perhaps if we focus less on whether we are happy and more on whether we are good, doing good for others, living good lives...

we could all be a little happier.