I don’t have all the answers myself, but I do feel that one part of allowing happiness to ensue is to realize that happiness is not a chronic state: It’s a transient one. If we expect it to last, instead of waxing and waning, we will be doomed to frustration. If we can lower our standards to aspire for contentment and peace—which actually allow for some unhappiness—the most realistic manifestation of “happiness” may then ensue.
In his book Stumbling on Happiness, psychologist Dan Gilbert summarizes droves of interesting research studies that, in a nutshell, show that we humans are not good at predicting what will make us happy. In fact, we’re so bad at it that we’re not even very good at correctly recalling what has made us happy in the past!2
So, besides engaging a paradoxical pursuit in which the target eludes us the more desperate we are for it, we really don’t even know what we’re chasing! I’m afraid finding happiness is one of those frustrating paradoxes: You have to learn how to quit trying in order to get there. And when you do get there, you’re going to learn that it’s a different place than what you’ve been fantasizing about all this time.
SLOW DOWN
Four-hundred years before Ernest Becker was a gleam in his father’s eye, Blaise Pascal penned his almost-famous hyperbole:
I have discovered that all human misfortune comes from one thing, which is not knowing how to remain quietly in one room. A man who has sufficient means to live, if he knew how to stay at home happily, would not go forth to go on the sea or to a siege … I have found that there is one very potent reason for it, that is, the unhappiness natural to our weak and mortal condition, a condition so miserable that when we think deeply about it, nothing can console us.3
Caught in a bit of a philosophical circularity, Pascal was seemingly obsessed with—if not tormented by—the way we humans are obsessed with diversion and distraction! When he talks about hunting rabbits in the 17th century, he could just as easily be talking about rat-racing or shopping in the 21st: “we like the chase better than the capture … This hare would not secure us against the sight of death and misery (who can save us from these?), but the chase does secure us against it.” People
seek only a violent and energetic occupation, which diverts them from thoughts of themselves … They imagine that having gained their object they would then take their ease and enjoy it, and are not aware of the insatiable nature of their desire. They sincerely believe they are seeking repose when, in truth, they seek only agitation … So life glides on. We seek rest by combating certain difficulties, and when these are conquered, rest becomes intolerable, for we think either of the troubles we have, or of those we might have.4
There’s something so wrong—but strangely addictive—about the mental state of being in a hurry, to escape the present moment by longing for the next. It’s basic behavioral conditioning, negative reinforcement to be exact. A rat that is being shocked will quickly learn to push a lever if that lever relieves that shock. We’re the rats, boredom and contemplation are the shock, and hustling and bustling are the levers we press to rid ourselves of contemplation—particularly those thoughts of our “miserable condition,” that is, our mortality. In this peculiar manner, self-imposed acute stress distracts us from our underlying chronic distress.5
The more accessible distraction becomes, the more likely we are to indulge it. That’s why we spend so much time buried in our phones and other electronic devices today: Because we can! We press the lever impulsively, frenzied, because it’s always there.
Even when we’re not physically bustling, we are mentally. I often have this experience when I go for a jog down at the “Greenbelt,” this surprisingly beautiful system of creek and trails that runs right through the middle of the now overly crowded, loud, stylish, and frenzied city of Austin. The transition from urban to rural can be quite dramatic and sudden, but I’ve learned if I don’t stop, take a deep breath, and stop thinking and just perceive, I’ll never make the transition completely. It’s truly an amazing experience: When I’m lucky enough to remind myself to pause as such, suddenly the sound of birds becomes surprisingly salient—as if I’ve just removed plugs from my ears. Only then do I feel the peace I’m looking for, the best kind that only comes from being outdoors.
When we first practice pausing and being present like this, it can actually be uncomfortable, if not downright aversive. But, over time, it becomes tolerable, then preferable, at least much of the time. Eventually—as it becomes more natural—all sorts of wonderful things begin to happen.6
Today, when I drive upon a yellow light, I often slow down and calmly stop instead of stomping the gas to beat it. It’s kinda nice to stop, because I can use the down time to just sit and be grateful or contemplate the cosmos or whatever. I remind myself how all this traffic came to be, and how incredibly magnificent it is to be alive and how lucky I am to even have a car in which to be stuck in traffic, and a refrigerator full of food waiting for me at home. When I see people ramming the gas to get through the light, I kinda pity them. I don’t think I’m better than them, but I feel like I’m on to something that they’re missing.
The act of rushing creates distress, for both myself and others, that is totally unnecessary. Alternatively, if I leave in plenty of time for my appointment, I get to ponder whatever I want instead of being forced to be angry at all the people who seem to be in my way. Regardless of what we’re doing, if we’re in a hurry, we’re wasting time.
Of course, we have to hurry sometimes. But don’t let others suck you in needlessly. The world will rush around you if you just let them. Instead of racing your neighbor in traffic, whether driving or walking or pushing a shopping basket, just put on the brakes, let them pass, and move in behind them. It’s judo-locomotion, using the momentum of the world against itself to make your passage more pleasant. When you assume your position behind frenzied drivers (or shoppers) and watch them speed off, you’ll feel better than when you end up in front of them. People in a hurry are some of the most unappealing people around; I recommend just getting out of their way and feeling sorry for them.
HUNT AND GATHER
Irvin Yalom (and others) has speculated that our evolutionary ancestors were more content than us today, despite lacking technology—indeed, perhaps because they lacked technology:
Furthermore, people of earlier ages were often so preoccupied with the task of meeting other more basic survival needs, such as food and shelter, that they were not afforded the luxury of examining their need for meaning … [they] had other meaning-providing activities in their everyday life. They lived close to the earth, felt a part of nature, fulfilled nature’s purpose in plowing the ground, sowing, reaping, cooking, and naturally and unself-consciously thrusting themselves into the future by begetting and raising children … They had a strong sense of belonging to a larger unit; they were an integral part of a family and community and, in that context, were provided scripts and roles.7
My dissertation advisor at Kansas, Stephen Ilardi, specifically conceptualizes clinical depression as a “disease of civilization”—along with other ailments such as diabetes and atherosclerosis, which are “largely non-existent” in aboriginal cultures that still hunt and gather, like the Kaluli of Papua New Guinea.8 On the contrary, depression is running amok in Western culture, significantly increasing with every generation—despite the fact that antidepressants are being prescribed about 300% more often than they were 20 years ago. So, Steve and colleagues researched the Kaluli to identify the factors of their lifestyle that seem to be inoculating them from depression, factors that Westerners are tragically lacking. And they found six: routine physical activity; regular face-to-face social interaction; spending time outdoors; sleep hygiene; anti-ruminative activity (that is, doing something besides brooding); and a diet rich in omega-3 fatty acids. Steve’s treatment program, Therapeutic Lifestyle Change (TLC) simply prescribes the depressed Westerner these lifestyle habits of the non-depressed Kaluli. Overall, the results have been beyond Steve’s “w
ildest dreams.” For example, he reports that mild exercise alone—thirty minutes of brisk walking three times a week—has outperformed the antidepressant Zoloft all by itself in clinical trials.
DON’T MIND THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE SO MUCH
There are probably countless ways in which our modern technolifestyle is ironically compromising life for us. We considered in an earlier chapter how that we may be chronically anxious due to overexposure to trauma via the news. Similarly, it’s fair to wonder if we are more sexually aroused than evolution ever intended (and therefore frustrated), due to overexposure to sexual stimulation in advertising and such. Otherwise, through the news, advertising, and just daily living, we can’t escape reminders that there are so many others out there who have so much more than we do. This is not natural, either, as we evolved in much less stratified societies than those in which we find ourselves today. I suspect that a lot of modern unhappiness is not simply being without: It’s being without and knowing that others aren’t, as their wealth is constantly paraded in front of us.
Well, it turns out that we tend to give wealth more credit than is due. A quite robust finding in psycho-socio-economic research is that once people have their basic needs met—they can pay the bills and feed the family and have enough left over for a little recreation—they tend to be as happy as anyone else, even the richest of folk. Adding money on top of the basics does not continue to increase happiness, as we poor people tend to fantasize. Dan Gilbert again:
Economists explain that wealth has “declining marginal utility,” which is a fancy way of saying that it hurts to be hungry, cold, sick, tired, and scared, but once you’ve bought your way out of these burdens, the rest of your money is an increasingly useless pile of paper.9
Certainly, we overestimate the quality of others’ experience in all sorts of contexts, besides that of their wealth. When you’re out on the town and everyone else seems so happy but you’re oddly down, realize that many of the people who are out are out because they feel good. For every person seeming to have such a better time than you, there are countless others at home in their pajamas channel surfing, feeling angsty and tormented about whether to get up and do anything at all. And of course, if you could read the minds of those other revelers who seem to be having such a great time, you’d see that many are not as happy as they look. Many of them are faking it just like you, wondering if they should be somewhere else. And even for some of those who are actually feeling great, mediocrity (if not worse) is waiting for them at home—that’s why they appear so happy at the moment!
Similarly, on social media, everyone seems to have more friends, romance, fun, family, and vacations than we do. But you have to realize you’re looking at a non-random sample; the joy that you see is usually more of an exception than a rule. Most people post happy stuff because they are in a good mood at the time. Overall, those people are just like you: They have good times, and then they have bad ones. The average person just doesn’t advertise the bad ones as much.
Besides comparing ourselves to others, we also have to be careful about comparing our current selves to those of our narcissistic hopes and dreams. I suspect that most people will never achieve the fantasy version of themselves, and will therefore be disappointed insofar as they are attached to those fantasies.
Is it wrong to have aspirations? Of course not, but aspirations can go bad when they preoccupy us with the future so much that we can’t appreciate how well we’re doing now, or if they otherwise doom us to failure later. We should have aspirations; we just shouldn’t be too unrealistic about them.
CHALLENGE YOUR FALSE SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT
American comedian (and philosopher) Louis C. K. enthusiastically conveys how spoiled and unappreciative we’ve become in our wealthy, greedy, technologically advanced society:
People on planes are the worst … they complain … “That was the worst day of my life! I had to sit on the runway for forty minutes!” That’s a story in this country. That’s a fucking hardship, that you had to sit on the runway. People will listen to that story. They’ll stop doing the dishes and turn around and go, “Oh, my god, really? For 40 minutes? That’s awful! You should sue them!”
What happened then? Did you fly through the air like a bird, incredibly? Did you soar into the clouds, impossibly? Did you partake in the miracle of human flight and then land softly on giant tires that you couldn’t even conceive how they fucking put air in them?
How dare you, bitching about flying! “[But] I had to pay for my sandwich …” You’re flying! You’re sitting in a chair in the sky! You’re like a Greek myth right now. “But it doesn’t go back very far, and I was sort of squishing my knees …”10
Besides not appreciating the miracles with which we engage daily, our unfounded sense of entitlement makes us feel violated when subjected to practical measures intended to protect us. I had to testify in court literally days after Jared Loughner shot U.S. Representative Gabrielle Giffords at her “Congress on Your Corner” meeting near Tucson, along with several others, killing six, including a nine-year-old girl. To get to the actual courtrooms, I have to walk through a security area with a metal detector. There was a UPS guy ahead of me with a dolly of packages, and the guard asked him to unload them so that each could be run through the X-ray machine. There was a lady behind me (presumably a defense attorney), and she was just disgusted with this process, sighing and saying out loud, clearly for everyone to hear, “This is ridiculous!” She looked at me, seeking some validation, but all I could give her was a blank stare, because that’s all I could do, being baffled.
I flew for the first time in 1995, at the tender age of 25. I remember being absolutely dumbfounded at how easy it was to get on a plane and potentially bring weapons with you—especially in the wake of the first World Trade Center bombing. My jaw was still dropped when I took my seat. If I had been in charge, 9/11 never would have happened. The irony is stupefying: Our obsession with liberty has actually cost us much of our freedom!
DON’T LET CONSUMPTION BE AN AMBITION
One of the reasons that surplus wealth beyond what is needed to meet our basic needs does not necessarily make us happier is related to one of the greatest strengths of biological organisms, also one of the most fundamental: We adapt to our circumstances. Observed on the level of the single brain cell, repeated stimulation activates the cell less and less over time, called adaptation or habituation. The good news is that it produces organisms that are resilient in the face of chronic distress. We can adapt to the bad things in our lives (within reason), such as divorce, physical disability, or even the death of a loved one.
The bad news is that we also adapt to—that is, become bored with—the good things in our lives. We always want something else because no matter how satisfied we become we eventually adapt to whatever got us there. The problem is most evident when we rely on accumulating things for satisfaction. Adaptation is why we have pastimes like shopping (and, I’m afraid, adultery). If owning things truly satisfied us, we wouldn’t shop so much; we’d buy a few things and be okay.
When I was a materialist but trying to change, I found it helpful to use the Alcoholics Anonymous mantra, “Fake it till you make it.” I would go to the mall or whatever but force myself to leave the debit card at home so that I didn’t even have the option to buy anything. It felt uncomfortable at first, excruciating at times, but eventually started to put everything into perspective. Without the option to buy, I simply felt like I didn’t want as much as usual; I was no longer shopping but more like hangin’ out, which became a more pleasant experience. When I did come across something I really seemed to want, I promised myself I’d come back the next day (or later in the week even) if I still wanted it. But it was amazing how often I’d lose interest after sleeping on it. Not always, but something about waiting and sleeping on it helped me distinguish between a compulsive want and a relatively legitimate one.
“But what if it’s gone when I get back!” Well, the earth will
continue to turn, and you will then learn that you really didn’t need it after all. It may sting for a moment, even for a while, but you’ll eventually forget about it. Off the top of my head, I can only think of one thing ever that I wish I had bought but didn’t (it was a neat set of china at an antique store in Leavenworth, Kansas, circa 2003). Oh yeah, and I wish that I would have brought home this dolphin vertebrae I found on the beach at the Gulf one time. I still think about these things on the rarest of occasions, and I still feel a little bit of regret about my decisions to pass them up, but those feelings pass pretty quickly. Oddly, it’s almost like I appreciate the lost items more because I don’t have them, reminiscent of that Camus quote about love, that the only enduring love is that which never has the opportunity to be indulged.
Once I practiced deprivation by forcing myself to do without, not only did I realize I didn’t need so much, it became clear that being a wanter creates one of those vicious cycles in which the act of trying to fulfill the desire only seems to exacerbate the need! I had an analogous experience recently with beer. I took a month off from beer drinking, largely because I just wanted to make sure I had all my faculties and energy to finish this book. An entirely unexpected benefit was that I found myself more present and comfortable throughout the day because I was no longer looking forward to evening beers! The irony is that anticipating beer with which to wind down later was actually winding me up at times, making me think I needed that beer more than I did.
Another favorite passage from Anthony de Mello has been inspirational in my quest against materialism: “Those who sleep on the floor never fall from their beds.”11
I don’t think he’s simply saying that if we don’t have anything, we don’t have anything to lose. I believe the message is deeper: It’s about a healthy mindset, in that those who do not seek satisfaction through materialism (and other doomed, superficial quests, like celebrity) are more grounded, content, and more in touch with reality.
Optimistic Nihilism Page 29