The Myth of Unrelenting Happiness

& the deliciousness of the alternative...

Photo by Masaaki Komori on Unsplash

Last night, apropos of nothing, my beloved said: “Sometimes I’m unhappy, and sometimes I’m happy.”

I reacted to this in the way a knee would react to being hit in exactly the right spot with a knee reflex hammer. No! We must not have unhappiness! Unhappiness means there is something wrong. Let’s try and fix it. Kaspa must be happy all the time!

I have the same feelings about my own happiness. Lots of different parts of me have dedicated their whole lives to fixing me and to making me happy. They know about my particular wounds from childhood and they have spent many hours healing them through therapy, journaling, self-development courses and spiritual practice. They have provided me with the ‘perfect’ career, enough money, a beautiful spouse, two little dogs and a Buddhist temple, no less, to live in. They have read enough self-help and spiritual books to sink a large ship.

Now I am smiling at myself - tickled, and fond. I already know that it is impossible to eradicate unhappiness from my life. It’s like wanting to be here on the Earth without the messy inconvenience of a body. The unavoidability of suffering is the very first truth that the Buddha taught. Even if I could, would I want to? Would I want cherry blossom to be a permanent frothy sickly sweet presence, rather than the transient beauty it is? Would I want to lose the precious messages to myself carried by my jealousy, fury, regret and despair? Would I want to mark the deaths of those I love with an aloof shrug?

Sometimes I’m happy, and sometimes I’m unhappy. It feels good to say it. I feel a pressure from myself and from society, especially as a psychotherapist and a Buddhist teacher, to be always ‘up’ - always connected, always equanimous, always bathed in bliss. There are moments of bliss. The first bite of a sandwich made with posh bread. The new-dog new-happiness of my friend. A simple breath of cold air - when the stars align, when I don’t get in my own way. There is a steady faith deep down, there are threads of meaning and satisfaction, and there is comfort and consolation.

There is the rest, too. I swim from cool water to warm, and then back to cool again. New pain is sparked, pointing the way to deeper healing. Old pain kicks in and maybe, like my new arthritis, it will be with me until I die.

I can live with that. I WANT to live with that. Sometimes there is cherry blossom, delicious and tinged with grief. Aaah, bittersweet!

Go gently _/|\_

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What do you resist in your life? What might you miss out on if you did manage to get rid of it? How honest are you about your ups and downs? Why? How can you bring gentleness to these questions and to yourself?

PS I’m extra-excited to have arrived on Substack this week and so I’ve written you an extra letter. If you’re subscribed (thank you) don’t worry, I know how inboxes can be - I’ll limit myself to weekly from now on ;)