"To be contented- that's for the cows"- Coco Chanel.
To be fair, I'm not living the life I imagined I'd be having when I was younger. By now I was supposed to have landed a high paying job, completed my doctoral thesis- twice, drove a mean-looking jeep, trekked all over India, attended a live Pink Floyd concert, drunk beer at an Irish pub in Ireland, be mauled in New Orleans during Mardi Gras, amassed a huge library, had either bungee jumped/ para sailed/ salsa'd on table tops, all with a husband and a fat baby in tow. And though I've done none of those, I find myself quite content.
Am I really a cow? Content to graze and chew my cud, never venturing beyond my pasture, uncaring that there are greener ones? Or am I truly happy? Happiness, some say, is not the freedom from want, but in wanting what you have. And Im starting to think that sentence is just a whole lot of BS.
Well, Miz Coco, Im being quite the cow right now.
|the ultimate multi-color hazed dream, hoohoo|
A friend screwed my thoughts up pretty badly the other day when she asked if I was really content or if I was actually more resigned to the blahness of my life, whether I had become too lazy or bogged down by the mundaneness of life that Ive stopped trying. I spent my pre-falling asleep moments thinking hard- am I really happy or have I been brainwashed into liking my life? Do I even like my life or have I lost the heart and the guts to try for more?
An avid fan of pseudo-psychoanalysis, I began to think that I had been placebo-ed into contentment, psychologically conditioned to accept what I have since I do not have the freedom/ gumption/ energy to seek anything more- rather like a caged bird that grows to love its cage. If Im truly happy, would I even need to ask if I truly am happy?
I'm starting to hate that friend. For all the unadventurousness of my life, I get up every morning thinking something good's going to happen, I laugh when the weather's particularly good, I sing in the shower, I boogie while I get dressed. And I sleep peacefully at night.
Now I find myself shying away from thinking too deeply about the H or the C words.
So this is what I ended up thinking about happiness- a false state of being induced by novocaine-ish stimuli, escapism from helplessness through a whirling dervish of emotions.
I want a fix of what's in this needle. Sighhhhh... I hate my friend :(