Spinster

I was indulging in my favorite Saturday morning ritual — eating breakfast, drinking tea, and reading the newspaper which, come to think of it, is actually an everyday ritual but I suppose it’s made a little sweeter on Saturday by the fact that I don’t have to go to work — and I came across this piece on happiness in the Globe and Mail. It’s written by Leah McLaren, who’s generally not one of my favorite G&M writers, though I have to say that I find her grumpiness a little charming at times.

Anyway, McLaren points out that we are living in a time when happiness is a hot commodity — there are dozens upon dozens of self-help books devoted to the pursuit of happiness, and we are constantly being urged to take up yoga or journalling or meditation, activities that are apparently guaranteed to at least point us in the direction of our elusive goal — and then calls bullshit on it.

About fucking time, and thank fucking God.

No amount of pop psychology or gratitude journalling is going to change the fact that the president of my country has engaged young men and women and civilians from all over the world, but particularly those from Afghanistan and Iraq, in an endless, morally bankrupt war.

No amount of yoga or motivational speaking is going to change the fact that our actions and practices are causing global warming.

No amount of smiley faces is going to change the fact that children are being abused, women are being raped, and men are being tortured, all over the world, in every community and every country, often for nothing more than being gay or female or black or whatever.

In short, the world is a fucked up place, even in relatively decent North America, and I refuse to mask my anger and frustration and sorrow over all of the screwed up things that happen with a smile and a gratitude journal. (As McLaren writes, “While positive psychology points to rising levels of depression as a legitimate problem in our society (Prof. Ben-Shahar warns of a great “emotional bankruptcy”), its solutions are inward-looking and facile. Imagine, for a moment, where we’d be if Martin Luther King Jr. had decided to purge his negative emotions by keeping a gratitude journal?”)

But.

That’s not to say that I don’t experience happiness and contentment, often on a daily basis. I’m gainfully employed and I like my job and the people I work with. I have a comfortable apartment to come home to every evening. I live in a vibrant, healthy city. I have a group of awesome friends who make me laugh harder than I ever thought possible. I have a small container garden and the simple, lovely joy of watching plants grow makes my mornings and evenings a treat. I have a family who loves me. I have a bike and a camera. I know how to make things and I do, often. I read tons of books. My life is pretty much awesome.

Pessimist? Yes. Realist? Yes. Depressed? Yup. Cynical and sarcastic? Sure. Unapologetically pissed off about the state of the world at large? Abso-fucking-lutely.

In love with my life, as it stands, at this very moment? You better believe it.

Thank you, Leah McLaren, for reminding us that one does not need to be either happy or unhappy, positive or negative; that rose-colored glasses don’t change the fact that the world is fucked up; that pessimism and happiness are not mutually exclusive.