Miserable Happiness

The title got ya, didn't it?

"I'm only happy when it rains
I'm only happy when it's complicated
And though I know you can't appreciate it
I'm only happy when it rains."
                 ---Garbage "Only Happy When it Rains"

I mostly include those lyrics simply because it is an excuse to proclaim my celebrity crush on Shirley Manson. I loved their first two albums, I'd be lying if I claimed otherwise regardless of how bad their pop 90s punk may have been. Technically, I hate it when it rains.  It depresses me. So there's that.

As I wrote in a previous post, I hate that I am seen as negative, an Eeyore clone or a buzz kill.  I wish I wasn't that way and I am working on it.

But there is truth to it. I'm reminded of it repeatedly this summer.

My sister and I have (and some other friends on Facebook) taken part in an exercise in which we post things that make us happy for 100 straight days.  I think I may be past the 100 days or I may be coming close, but it has become a good habit that I plan to continue regardless of the number.

This exercise forces me out of my old habit of seeking what is wrong as if listing all the bad gives me some kind of control over it.

But these old habits don't die easily.  This one has been formed over 30 years of hard work.  I can't expect it to change in just over 3 months!

In addition, I have worked very hard to change the way I think and talk with varying results, some success, lots of failure. I have meditated.  I have confided in trusted friends and family.  I have even sought professional help and support.  I have purposely exercised more and used this exercise to sort through thoughts.  I was reading as well until the weather warmed and I found myself preferring to be more active. I'm trying to slowly crowd out the bad with good.

But it has been extremely difficult and revealed some sobering realizations, epiphanies, if you will.

One such eye opening revelation came in a conversation with my sister who said she wakes up every day happy.  It is natural for her.  She really doesn't need the exercise like I do, but continues to finish what she started I assume.

Wakes up happy?  Naturally?

What the....?

Like a slap in the face, this hurt.

I always felt and thought and claimed that beneath my shield of pessimism that protects me from let downs and disappointments (but really doesn't), I was really an optimist and very happy.

The simple statement from my sister struck me.  It was clear to me that I am not like that.  I never wake up happy.

I work at it.  I work really hard.

The thing is, I shouldn't have to work.  I am reminded by myself as well as countless others of how blessed I am and how lucky I am and grateful I should be.

I am grateful.  I write gratitude lists, I think gratitude lists frequently.  My meditations often are purposeful thoughts of these things because they make me happy.

So why aren't I just happy?

My high school yearbook from my senior year had a box with a list of several students including me and one word to describe us.

My word?

Happy.

Wait.  What?  How the?

I swear to you that this is true.  I would cite the page number if I wasn't too lazy to go dig through my crawl space in my basement to find the box with my yearbook in it.  You will have to trust me on this.  I really have no benefit in making this up.

So basically I am a fraud. I've been living a lie to myself.

This brings me to where I am today.  What makes me truly happy without effort, like my sister?

I have confided in a close friend I hold in high regard.  We have been corresponding and actually helping each other out.  It is a true definition of support system.  I expressed how music has found its way into my meditations this week and how much it has helped.  I am not sure that is how it is supposed to work.  But he understood.  Music is magical he wrote.  He has found similar value, but his own value, in it.

I don't have to put forth effort with the right music. It takes me to a place I want to be on its own.  I think about my children, sunny days, baseball games, floating in a pool on a hot day, lying in the snow listening to the silence of winter and letting the cold take over, blank feelings like excitement, satisfaction, coolness, warmth and so on.

But in the end, I think the effort I am putting forth may be defeating the purpose.  As I continue, I seek how I can truly, for real, let go and allow the happy to come to the surface.  Stop thinking so much.

Until then, I will probably keep finding misery in this happiness.