I
Decoding
HAPPI NESS
H . ARMSTRONG ROB ERTS/G E T T Y IMAG ES
In the age of hashtags and hustle, happiness seems like an easy thing to spot in others yet harder and harder to find within. Writer and realist Sharon R. Boone shares how she made peace with joy
have always had a strange relationship with emotions.Since I was little, I’ve been drawn to the extremes rather than the middle. Feeling absolutely overjoyed and upbeat or crushed and dejected came easier than simply feeling content. My uncle Hoyt, Jr., used to called me Cheerful Tearful, because I was either ecstatically happy (swinging on swings is awe some!) or inconsolably sad (my ice cream fell and life is meaningless). I wasn’t an unhappy child. I just could never quite settle on a definition for happiness that made sense to me. And I was naturally curious, extremely skeptical and always probing. I don’t mean the kind of kid who asked a million “But why?” questions. I was the type who asked the existential ones: “How do you know what you say is good is actually good?” “If my dream seemed so real, how do I know I’m not still asleep and dreaming?” In kindergarten, when we sang, “If you’re happy and you know it,” I always hesitated to clap my hands. Was I really happy? What do people feel when they say they feel happy, and what if I don’t feel like that? Fast-forward to adult me and I still have questions. What is happiness, really, and how would I know it if I felt it? Right now you’re probably saying, “Damn, this girl is really overthinking things.” And you wouldn’t be the first. But hear me out: I’ve worked and written for women’s magazines for more than two decades. I have edited dozens of stories about 10 ways to find your joy, 25 reasons to be happy, 15 things to make you smile. All of them true, all from the heart. But also all kind of BS.
Sometimes being happy is hard. Sometimes things are just f----d up. Trump is the president; your favorite rapper may be problematic; folks in Flint, Michigan, still can’t trust that water coming out of their taps; Black people are still being d isrespected and brutalized in the gym, at Starbucks, in their cars and in their backyards. And personally, I’ve gone through two knee-replacement surgeries, and the subsequent pain—physical and financial—that came with them. I’ve been laid off full-time jobs twice and am now doing the temp/freelance/gig economy hustle. Trying to pay the relentless flurry of bills with money that
I wasn’t an unhappy child. I just could never quite settle on a definition for happiness that made sense to me.” arrives in dribs and drabs. Chasing checks. Grinding. It’s exhausting. It’s a lot. Add to that the chorus of other people’s happiness that seemingly stays on autoplay. Is it me or has it almost become performance art? People just can’t take a walk in the park or a stroll on the beach or have a great hair day. No, they have to put it on the ’gram, where every occurrence or occasion is The. Best. Ever! I look at those posts and pictures and think, Have I ever felt as overjoyed about anything as these girls are about their avocado toast (or bottomless mimosa brunch or twist-out)? Has anybody? Remember that time when everybody went to Dubai? Must have been some cheap tickets. In my feed, high school friends, former coworkers and old neighbors and relatives were all stuntin’ in Dubai, and there I was, at
home in Hoboken and wondering, Where is my photo shoot on a sand dune? Can this broke-ass Black girl get some of that #BlackGirlMagic? Now, I’m not saying that I’m not amazing, ’cause I am. But some days—okay, many days—it feels as if it’s y’all and not me. Honestly, the Season of Dubai could have been the start of my hopelessly feeling sorry for myself. A terrible spiral. But that one time I stopped myself cold. (You can do this, too.) I had a stern talk with myself about myself. A life of contentment had always been sitting there waiting on me to claim happiness as mine. Getting a grip on my perspective was the clear and only answer. I admitted to myself that cheap tickets or not, I have never even wanted to go to Dubai. Why send my wishes and dreams on someone else’s vacation? Instead of focusing on big, flashy events, like other people’s travel to exotic locales, I started to fill my thoughts with those small moments that bring me real-life joy—warm puppies, mastering new skills, rain showers on really hot afternoons and how awesome it still is to swing on a swing. And one day I looked up and was happy. Not only in a let-me-count-myblessings way, though my blessings are many and wondrous—I have a husband who loves me as much as I love him, friends and family I adore, good health, a roof over my head and food on the table—but in an even deeper sense. Being content is a way of seeing the world and your place in it, and it can happen through little life rituals that lift your spirit. Today I laugh despite the damn bills. Sometimes I skip to my mailbox on my two new knees. Why not? I even take dance breaks whenever “The Boss,” by Diana Ross, comes on in the grocery store. That’s me singing out loud in public! You know I n ever pass up the opportunity to ride a carousel. And sometimes I’m just really satisfied with the way my avocado toast tastes. I’m happy. I know it. I clap my hands.
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Sharon R. Boone (@sharonrboone) still has a lot of questions and a lot of smart-ass answers.
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