Happiness

Maybe I'm just facetious, but being happy is a question of allowing yourself to not fear the guilt of genuine happiness.

It all started with my purchase of 3 small "Rough Guides to the Wonders of the World" books, and a comment that I will always travel, one way or another. What took me by surprise was the blatant cynicism with which this was met by my collegue, and the honest response of "Well, if that if that's what you think you will do than good for you, but reality and dreams are two different worlds. Good things don't really happen to people. People are bad. Paradise is solitude." Interesting.

What followed was a psychological trip to bitterness and loneliness, all because you are too afraid to let yourself enjoy the good in the world. I have seen this before. This continuous need to find things that make life seem harder than it is, or more complicated, or less inclined to accommodate a mere you in the depths of other peoples success. The impact of difference in perceived experience has seldom been clearer to me as it was during our virtual travels through the books of the world.

You love the look of Kenya, but could never go there, what if you caught Malaria, even with the little white pills? Europe looks like fun, but there are too many things to see, where would you start? The Australians are rude, New Zealand is bland, South America may just give you a tropical disease. The Middle East - fascinating, except for the risk of sunburn and dehydration in the scorching heat. You won't travel the world until you have seen your own country first. Fair Enough. You want to visit the Freestate, but won't go; Bloemfontein is for farmers and you are above the ranks of the flatness with which a Bloemfontein farmer goes about the business of living his life. No, farming won't do either, best stay in PE where you are protected from the possibility of being touched by this little thing called happiness.

I think what I'm trying to say, is that not wanting people to get close to you is not a fear of hurt, but a fear of being loved. A fear of getting Malaria is not the fear of sickness, but not catching it the fear of having to realise that you are blessed with good health. Regrets are not there to remind us that we have made mistakes in life, and that we are bad. Regrets are there to show us that there is more to the way of the world, and that there are multiple answers to the questions we force ourselves to ask for fear of having all the answers.

It turned out to be an interesting evening in the end. As I watched you drive away a usual smile broke over my face, making me fully aware of the enormity of the difference between us. You in your car, afraid to breathe in case you enjoy it. Me in my car, singing opera, watching the world unfold.