Over the weekend I noticed an essay on Vox titled America is obsessed with happiness--and it's making us miserable. Obviously, given all that I have written about happiness here, including my own efforts to do a happiness project, the title jumped out at me. Even without reading the essay, that title gave me a prick of discomfort (and a slightly larger dose of self-doubt). Curious about what the author, Ruth Whippman, had to say, I read on.
In the article, Whippman mentions the myriad ways Americans pursue happiness (yoga, meditation, gratitude journals, mindfulness, reading Gretchen Rubin, and more) and the numerous conversations she's had with Americans about their attempts to be happier. She's especially annoyed with the whole notion of mindfulness in everyday life. (It's worth noting here that Whippman hails from Great Britain, a notably cynical place, a place where candour and a genuine nature are not exactly held in high regard).
The Byproduct of a Life Well Lived
The line that jumped out at me, and that has been running through my mind the last few days, was this:
Oddly, even adjusting for emotional openness, my new happiness-seeking American acquaintances seem no happier, and often more anxious, than my cynical, joy-slacking British ones. My instinct is that this is because happiness should be serendipitous, the byproduct of a life well lived, and chasing it in a vacuum just doesn’t really work.
It is exactly this--that "happiness should be serendipitous, the byproduct of a life well lived"--that struck me. In my mind, a life well lived is exactly what a happiness project is about. Happiness isn't (necessarily) about drinking champagne every day and surfing and laughing riotously and the constant pursuit of excitement, thrills, and having more. Happiness is about focusing attention on where you find meaning in life and consciously cultivating more of it. And I don't think that's something worth criticizing people for.
In Happier at Home
"Feeling right" is about virtue (doing my duty, living up to my own standards) and also about living the life that's right for me (in occupation, location, family situation, and so on). Sometimes, choosing to "feel right" means accepting some "feeling bad." Happiness doesn't always make me feel happy; I dislike every step of dealing with yearly flu shots for my family, yet this chore also makes me happy.
Research supports this observation [that we are happy when we are growing]: It's not goal attainment, but the process of striving after goals--that is, growth--that brings happiness.
Learning Swedish gives me a happiness boost, even if I'm nowhere near mastery of it. Practicing piano (as an adult) brings me immense happiness, even though I'm absolutely crap on it. I love the very act of learning these things, of growing my skills, of working on something difficult, even if I'm not having "fun" in the moments of going through verb tables or playing a section of a sonata for the sixteenth time, trying to get my hands to coordinate their efforts. Neither of these things make me miserable (except when I attempt to order, in Swedish, gluten-free bread with my soup, and instead am delivered a regular wheat-and-cheese sandwich, which I don't realize until I've taken several bites).
So What Makes Us Miserable?
Now, if I had my guess about it, Americans are in fact quite miserable when we equate "happiness" with having more, more than our neighbors or friends or more than we had at this time last year. Or when we engage in competitive happiness, trying to be happier than our friends (or frenemies), or have more perfect ("advanced") children, a cleaner house, nicer clothes, etc.
I find it incredibly hard to believe that when we take time to identify the things that genuinely give us the most meaning and joy in life, and then begin to cultivate those things in our lives, we become miserable and anxious. I find it easy to believe that when we think there is a particular notion of happiness that we ought to be striving for--whether that notion genuinely rings true for us or not--and we aren't living up to that notion, we become anxious.
I'd love to know what you think about this. What brings you the most meaning in life, and do you consciously pursue it or hope that it just appears in your life? Do you have enough happiness--or meaning--in your everyday life without having to cultivate it? Do you think seeking happiness makes us miserable? Have you been scoffing at my whole happiness project shtick?
(For my happiness project, this month I'm focusing on making our home a home, even though I sort of failed in my first month (with no anxiety or misery).)
Top photo by Halldora Olafs; second and fourth photos by me; third photo by James.
Tim says
I work at Stockholm University, studying digital media and (among other things) bereavement. In the 1960s, there were some very popular and influential books that accused American society of being so focused on happiness that there was no space left to be honest about sadness and grief. There have been lots of projects since then to encourage resistance to happiness. There were British books at the same time, too, accusing Brits of also neglecting grief, but for a different reason: British people were scared of showing any emotion at all, so they refused to leave space for happiness OR sadness. Some things have changed since then, but maybe not completely!
Jodi says
Interesting point, Tim, and not without merit. I think a popular understanding of "happiness" may not leave room for grief, bereavement, and a host of other difficult emotions and passages; however, I do believe that a replete understanding of happiness can include these things. Next week I want to write about this very thing, calling on the wise words of poet David Whyte--so stay tuned!
Also, I think it's fascinating that the British and Americans have had a similar problem in accepting grief, but for such different reasons. I'm married to an Englishman, and we have these kinds of discussions all the time--the stoicism and cynicism of the Brits, versus the candor and optimism of the Americans (speaking, of course, in broad terms).
Dava says
I've been thinking about this. I think that maybe the misery (if it's happening to some) comes from trying to force a cause and effect relationship with the feeling of happiness. If you do something and you've told yourself that doing that thing ought to make you feel happy, but then it doesn't, you might feel frustrated and disempowered and panicky about the whole thing. But if you called the effort something else entirely (I'm blanking right now), just referring to it along the lines of choosing to spend your time in better ways, maybe there would be less pressure for those actions to result in something that's honestly somewhat outside of your control. It makes me think of this article, which I absolutely love. http://nyti.ms/2d4TwiU
Whenever we would vacation with my parents and sister and her family, I would spend a ridiculous amount of time worrying about whether or not I was squeezing enough "quality time" into our week together. We were playing enough board games? Having enough substantive conversations? Watching enough sunsets and enjoying them enough? When it comes to how you spend time with a group of people you simply can't direct all of that, sometimes people aren't in the mood, but it would stress me out. I wanted something to happen (the feeling of having spent time with others in a quality way) that wasn't 100% within my control. I could choose my actions, but when I started expecting a certain feeling to come out of it it really did result in misery.
Jodi says
That's a fascinating observation, Dava, and possibly something we all feel to some degree. I know that I'm also wondering whether, on my visits home, I'm doing enough to bond with my parents or other family members. But then I'm also so distracted by taking care of my kids in a new environment, and then too tired after they go to bed, to spend too much time worrying about it.
We went on a family vacation two summers ago that one member of the family went to great lengths and expense to arrange. She wanted everything to be perfect and for everyone to have fun--so much so that she tried to manage every single thing anyone did, or complained at the kids if they weren't enjoying a certain activity enough (or were enjoying an activity that she didn't approve of too much!). She seemed to actually be fairly miserable most of the time, and I know the attitude effected everyone who was there. I think it's incredibly hard, when we want something so badly, to just let go and let it run its course. But ultimately it's the best way. At least by letting go, you lose the stress of having to manage everything and worry about the details. Easier said than done, right?
Jodi says
And by the way, thanks for the link. I've just added it to the Happiness Links page.