In The Pursuit of Happiness

So here I am wondering what more I can write for this writers platform. And not only what can I write, but what can I write that will improve my stats? Not that I want to get hung up on that particular element. But one doesn’t want to ignore it neither.

Of course I get my daily fix of other writers in the mail. I must confess I don’t read them all. I just haven’t got the time to be honest. So I am quite selective what I choose to read. And amongst all of the scribblings there is one very common, maybe all too common,thread.

It occurred to me that there are an awful lot of other writers doing exactly what I do, writing about writing. So, if not writing, what should I write of ? Life and love, money and corruption, sex and drugs and rock and roll ? What about things like the European Central Bank printing money to throw around like smarties to very little effect ? Or how about France finally giving its healthcare workers the rise in wages they so richly deserve ?

Well these things are interesting to some, bankers and doctors and nurses, but not to others. We know banks are reckless and health workers deserving. Like we know that unbridled capitalism stinks and the corrupt system of what passes for democracy smells even worse. The more things change the more they stay the same. And I do not need reminding of it by the MSM every single minute of every single day.

No, a more invigorating universal theme worthy of my attention is what is needed here, something like happiness, for example. In fact, not too many years ago I recall some research carried out by social studies undergraduates at Liverpool University being published. And what they concluded was that what is universal about happiness is the wholesale lack of it. Indeed, their studies concluded that since happiness is such an uncommon state of mind, it was deemed abnormal to be happy !

So if you are deeply unhappy, then that’s fine and dandy, that means you are totally normal. This is great news, because it means all of us unhappy people can cancel our appointments with our psychoanalysts and all you happy people better get yourselves off to a padded cell. For maybe the first time in my miserable life I feel at one with the world. This is akin to an epiphany as a writer and as a person. I have never felt so in tune with my fellow man.

I feel part of the majority who every single morning groan at the prospect of rising from my slumber to go and do battle with my un-happiness. For me it takes a strong foamy, cappuccino and hot buttered toast and a cigarette to fire up the motor. Such is the depth of unhappiness at having to get out of bed, you better not even think to speak to me until those basic requirements have been met.

You guys huddled up on the cold wet streets waiting for a bus, you people squashed on to the sweaty metro in New York, London Madrid and Rome, in every capital in the world, we are all one. As miserable as sin at the prospect of having to spend a day in an uncomfortable office with people much rather I would spit in the eye, we are one, brothers and sisters.

We are bonded by our misery, and that makes me very happy. I am happy to be unhappy because that makes me normal. I am not alone. And now I feel connected with the world through misery, the question is, do I continue in this way, or do I strive to be happy and abnormal. It’s a tough choice. I need time to think this through. I really am not sure if could handle being happy, that would mean having to give up my crutches, and I do love roasted coffee, hot buttered toast and a whiff or two of tobacco first thing in the morning.