previous post extended

I guess maybe I never felt comfortable seeking out things that make me happy, sometimes because the seeking seemed wrong and sometimes because I couldn't define that which makes me happy. Like a stupid high school kid, maybe it seemed that happiness was “below me”. Or maybe I felt guilty for feeling happy, that I didn’t deserve it somehow. Maybe it was simple indifference, the same consuming indifference that haunts a lot of us. Well, in the end we choose indifference, it never chooses us. It’s our own desire for self-victimization that causes us to seek it out and hold it tight. It’s an excuse that shrouds our failures in the twisted happiness of the fact that we think we know what others don’t: the world, and life, is meaningless. It's a way of winning, of success, that occurs without a single word, not a sentence to be debated, not a thing produced or counted or scored. Every tired morning, every drudging step, all of the depressing minutes of the day are little victories proving the fact that you are strong enough to continue living in spite of the fact that life is meaningless. No one keeps score. There are no judges. It's a game we play that we win, again and again, every day, against a world that doesn't even know their playing.

Maybe it is, but it doesn’t mean you can’t create meaning! There is no principle question in life, there is no great answer, and it’s not our failure that we can’t answer the one thing we think we should be able to. It is, however, our failure that we think we should have to answer it.

It seems funny that the persuit of happiness should be so hard for so many people, including myself. It seems like such a clouded subject, both the persuit and the happiness itself. Odd something so fundamental to the functioning of life is so complicated... why is that? Now that is a good question.