The Making of Happiness
Wow, long time no see.
To say the very least, I've been...erm...busy. Haven't had a moment's peace.
I'll be back with updates at some stage...perhaps even some fanfiction...
For now, here's some rather melancholy thoughts for anyone that thought life was going to spare them the whining for a moment.
***
Thirty million New Zealand dollars. The highest Lotto winnings ever up for grabs in the history of this country, and it HAS to go.
So many people have been thinking about what they would do if they won that volume of money. What would it mean? Surely that sheer wealth would make you happy...very happy. All the logic surrounding it lines up; no more bill worries, no more debt, no more worrying about where that next meal comes from. No scrimping and saving for that nice TV, that awesome car, an absurdly good computer. Holidays are yours for the taking, wining and dining as you please.
You could hire a personal trainer and become the most gorgeous person in your friends group. You could afford a boat, even...go sailing in the weekends, leave your worries on the shore.
And of course, when you think about it, worries would come with the territory. Perhaps you'd worry if someone stole your newfound fortune, or if they would take advantage of you for it. In more ways than one, you would be a target; anyone who knows you, and knows of your wealth, would feel entitled to their fair share of it. But what is their FAIR share?
What about your new posessions? These things you've not had to work for, but are now a major part of your life? Your house(s), your car(s), your lovely trinkets. These would surely be on your mind day in day out. But what would your concept of their value be, considering you hadn't oozed blood, sweat and tears for them?
And what of the trouble, the terrible trouble you could get yourself into with so much money. It's not unheard of for people to get involved with the wrong people, in the wrong industry...all because they suddenly have millions of dollars.
So perhaps here's another thought for the troubled millionaire's mind; maybe wealth can't buy happiness. It's been said time and time again, after all; what can't be bought is what fulfils you.
Let's consider then, life's free pleasures. A smile from a stranger, a walk on the beach. Petting a cat...fish and chips...a long drive...swimming in the sea...holding hands. The simple things, and exceedingly cheap or free, ought to make us happy since all the wealth and possession in the world brings nothing but greed, arrogance, worry and stress. Not to mention immense responsibility.
Then oughtn't our lower middle class be the happiest people in the world? Some of them are. Others remember the rent needs to be paid, the cupboards are bare, the car is running on fumes, the kids have lost one of their damn shoes and oh shit, water bill is due tomorrow. No amount of swimming in the sea, holding hands in the park and building sandcastles will wipe out the worry of debt, wondering where the next meal is coming from and whether the boss is going to throw the book at you.
Isn't it a surprise that not many people you know can truly say they are HAPPY. It's always accompanied by a 'but...' unless in polite company. Everyone has their worries, their little dramas, their reason for life sucking the happy out of them.
So many people say that 'money is not important' and just as many are countered by 'money is what makes the world go around'. It's meaningless, yet paramount. We need it more than anything yet it is the axis of all evil. How is a mere human supposed to survive?
Hand-to-mouth, living for the moment, plotting every step; life is snakes and ladders, life is a game of chess, life is nothing but fucking torture. Yup, day in day out it's more of the same.
Perhaps the one thing that would pull you through is someone that feels the same, someone that feels passionately about you, someone whose mere presence eases the burden of life's little struggles with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek, a loving smile, a squeeze of the hand. Surely, the bliss of a shared burden would be the recipe to happiness...the cure for the woes of the world.
For a while, it often is. Until you realise that the 'It's Not Okay' ads about domestic violence are oh so relevant, that it's absolutely balls when your partner brings home some horrible disease they picked up when they were shagging someone else, when they've tried to cure their unending unhappiness by turning to something less savoury, something that leaves debt and destruction in their wake.
Maybe having a partner isn't the recipe for happiness, but yet another burden added to that growing list of getting by day to day. Perhaps it's the rush of something different, something risky, something to get the adrenaline pumping, that would bring a smile to the most depressed face. Gambling? Racing? Stealing, drugs, prostitution - on either end of the stick - fighting? For a while, this is what we would live for. Hell, no one's a saint; I've wasted many a tank of octane for the wrong reasons. For a while yes, this is what makes the world go round...this is what makes the weeks fly by, gives meaning to life...
But the consequences are in Karma's hands, and she's swift with her upsweep - what goes around comes around, and like a tonne of bricks. If you don't make a quick exit before it's too late, you might find yourself with a hell of a lot more worries than just the day to day runnings chipping away at your sanity.
Not all of us fall off the wagon quite that hard though, and we learn our lessons from other peoples' stupidity (ignore the halo hanging around by my ankles a moment). Maybe happiness is the feeling that you are getting somewhere taking it one day at a time, one trial at a time, and that the achievements pass by one after another with a big tick beside them and another trophy on your wall. Sure, it might not make you rich. It might not make you famous. But at least you would die with your loved ones around you remembering you as a good person, perhaps a role model.
Is that your lot in life?
I have to say...I'm not convinced by any of the theories as to what would create a happy human. Perhaps that's why I'm always as depressed as I am. Money does not rule my life, but suffice it to say I am quite a money-hungry person; I love its value, I hate spending it, but I love what it buys. I am materialistic; the most important things to me in the world are my cars, because even though they love being broken, love slurping straight from my wallet, they still never let me down. Hell, my Legacy doesn't budge an inch and I still love her to death.
I look forward to pay rises, I say yes to overtime if it's paid, I buy lotto tickets. My dream is to be a rally driver, own an S201, have my own house, have one of the fastest N/A Subarus in the country. I'd also dream of being thinner, more tanned, less short-sighted, more attractive... perhaps a few inches taller. You can smell the pot from the pipe dreams a mile away.
But you know what? I think of that S201 parked in my own garage, fugly wing and all, with my own little cat and my own rally car and my own TV, my own decent computer and my own goddamn internet, and I smile. In fact, tears come to my eyes. The cherry on the top is my independence, freedom to come and go as I please from wherever, to drift from one point in life to another as I explore different facets of this reality we call life; I am my own woman, with my own posessions, my own life.
Imagining that ugly two-tone Impreza alongside a sleek blue-grey beast, black battlewagon nosed up against a blue-and-gold decalled monster a mile in the air...imagining every detail...this is my cocaine. This is my desire, my inspiration, the silly thing that keeps that smile welded on my face.
Perhaps this is happiness.
Then I open my eyes, glance around, and that massive tri-planar wing disappears. My black battlewagon disappears...my rally car dissipates and all I'm left with is my parents' living room, the tiny TV off to the right, and a chipped and scarred grey Impreza covered in mud grinning quietly to himself outside, guzzling my petrol like a drunken sailor on the turps and wishing I would hurry up and find out which sensor's gone bung next...the smile fades, but the tears don't.
After all, how much blood, sweat and tears will it take before any of this becomes reality. I've already spent $35,000 on my little grey, scarred Impreza. Yes, that's not a typo...all five figures are counted in my blood and soul. He's still slow...he's still bedraggled...he's still got issues, and at least another $20,000 to go. And that's barely a dent in a bloody mortgage. The battlewagon sits idle elsewhere, begging for black paint, begging for a gearbox and somewhat useful tyres. She awaits my cold hard cash patiently yet longingly, pleading to be driven as all Subarus deserve.
Happiness - bedfellow of complete and utter depression.
It begs the question. Why do we humans do this to ourselves - what is the point in a 'higher intelligence', when it brings us naught but misery? My cat seems happy enough. Meows for food, kills a few birds, accepts adoration, sleeps in the sun, commandeers a lap for a while, demands more food and sleeps off another happy day. She's a clever little chick, but she ain't no rocket scientist; it seems to work well enough for her.
Money, depression, debt, trouble, happiness...what a volatile, toxic mix.
$30 million NZ. It's a fair amount of cash.
And it did go; five 2nd division winners, with the winnings being split $6m each way. Two tickets were from Auckland.
Tell you what, if that volume of cash landed in my chubby little hands, I would be hard-pressed to tell you that happiness can't be bought.
To say the very least, I've been...erm...busy. Haven't had a moment's peace.
I'll be back with updates at some stage...perhaps even some fanfiction...
For now, here's some rather melancholy thoughts for anyone that thought life was going to spare them the whining for a moment.
***
Thirty million New Zealand dollars. The highest Lotto winnings ever up for grabs in the history of this country, and it HAS to go.
So many people have been thinking about what they would do if they won that volume of money. What would it mean? Surely that sheer wealth would make you happy...very happy. All the logic surrounding it lines up; no more bill worries, no more debt, no more worrying about where that next meal comes from. No scrimping and saving for that nice TV, that awesome car, an absurdly good computer. Holidays are yours for the taking, wining and dining as you please.
You could hire a personal trainer and become the most gorgeous person in your friends group. You could afford a boat, even...go sailing in the weekends, leave your worries on the shore.
And of course, when you think about it, worries would come with the territory. Perhaps you'd worry if someone stole your newfound fortune, or if they would take advantage of you for it. In more ways than one, you would be a target; anyone who knows you, and knows of your wealth, would feel entitled to their fair share of it. But what is their FAIR share?
What about your new posessions? These things you've not had to work for, but are now a major part of your life? Your house(s), your car(s), your lovely trinkets. These would surely be on your mind day in day out. But what would your concept of their value be, considering you hadn't oozed blood, sweat and tears for them?
And what of the trouble, the terrible trouble you could get yourself into with so much money. It's not unheard of for people to get involved with the wrong people, in the wrong industry...all because they suddenly have millions of dollars.
So perhaps here's another thought for the troubled millionaire's mind; maybe wealth can't buy happiness. It's been said time and time again, after all; what can't be bought is what fulfils you.
Let's consider then, life's free pleasures. A smile from a stranger, a walk on the beach. Petting a cat...fish and chips...a long drive...swimming in the sea...holding hands. The simple things, and exceedingly cheap or free, ought to make us happy since all the wealth and possession in the world brings nothing but greed, arrogance, worry and stress. Not to mention immense responsibility.
Then oughtn't our lower middle class be the happiest people in the world? Some of them are. Others remember the rent needs to be paid, the cupboards are bare, the car is running on fumes, the kids have lost one of their damn shoes and oh shit, water bill is due tomorrow. No amount of swimming in the sea, holding hands in the park and building sandcastles will wipe out the worry of debt, wondering where the next meal is coming from and whether the boss is going to throw the book at you.
Isn't it a surprise that not many people you know can truly say they are HAPPY. It's always accompanied by a 'but...' unless in polite company. Everyone has their worries, their little dramas, their reason for life sucking the happy out of them.
So many people say that 'money is not important' and just as many are countered by 'money is what makes the world go around'. It's meaningless, yet paramount. We need it more than anything yet it is the axis of all evil. How is a mere human supposed to survive?
Hand-to-mouth, living for the moment, plotting every step; life is snakes and ladders, life is a game of chess, life is nothing but fucking torture. Yup, day in day out it's more of the same.
Perhaps the one thing that would pull you through is someone that feels the same, someone that feels passionately about you, someone whose mere presence eases the burden of life's little struggles with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek, a loving smile, a squeeze of the hand. Surely, the bliss of a shared burden would be the recipe to happiness...the cure for the woes of the world.
For a while, it often is. Until you realise that the 'It's Not Okay' ads about domestic violence are oh so relevant, that it's absolutely balls when your partner brings home some horrible disease they picked up when they were shagging someone else, when they've tried to cure their unending unhappiness by turning to something less savoury, something that leaves debt and destruction in their wake.
Maybe having a partner isn't the recipe for happiness, but yet another burden added to that growing list of getting by day to day. Perhaps it's the rush of something different, something risky, something to get the adrenaline pumping, that would bring a smile to the most depressed face. Gambling? Racing? Stealing, drugs, prostitution - on either end of the stick - fighting? For a while, this is what we would live for. Hell, no one's a saint; I've wasted many a tank of octane for the wrong reasons. For a while yes, this is what makes the world go round...this is what makes the weeks fly by, gives meaning to life...
But the consequences are in Karma's hands, and she's swift with her upsweep - what goes around comes around, and like a tonne of bricks. If you don't make a quick exit before it's too late, you might find yourself with a hell of a lot more worries than just the day to day runnings chipping away at your sanity.
Not all of us fall off the wagon quite that hard though, and we learn our lessons from other peoples' stupidity (ignore the halo hanging around by my ankles a moment). Maybe happiness is the feeling that you are getting somewhere taking it one day at a time, one trial at a time, and that the achievements pass by one after another with a big tick beside them and another trophy on your wall. Sure, it might not make you rich. It might not make you famous. But at least you would die with your loved ones around you remembering you as a good person, perhaps a role model.
Is that your lot in life?
I have to say...I'm not convinced by any of the theories as to what would create a happy human. Perhaps that's why I'm always as depressed as I am. Money does not rule my life, but suffice it to say I am quite a money-hungry person; I love its value, I hate spending it, but I love what it buys. I am materialistic; the most important things to me in the world are my cars, because even though they love being broken, love slurping straight from my wallet, they still never let me down. Hell, my Legacy doesn't budge an inch and I still love her to death.
I look forward to pay rises, I say yes to overtime if it's paid, I buy lotto tickets. My dream is to be a rally driver, own an S201, have my own house, have one of the fastest N/A Subarus in the country. I'd also dream of being thinner, more tanned, less short-sighted, more attractive... perhaps a few inches taller. You can smell the pot from the pipe dreams a mile away.
But you know what? I think of that S201 parked in my own garage, fugly wing and all, with my own little cat and my own rally car and my own TV, my own decent computer and my own goddamn internet, and I smile. In fact, tears come to my eyes. The cherry on the top is my independence, freedom to come and go as I please from wherever, to drift from one point in life to another as I explore different facets of this reality we call life; I am my own woman, with my own posessions, my own life.
Imagining that ugly two-tone Impreza alongside a sleek blue-grey beast, black battlewagon nosed up against a blue-and-gold decalled monster a mile in the air...imagining every detail...this is my cocaine. This is my desire, my inspiration, the silly thing that keeps that smile welded on my face.
Perhaps this is happiness.
Then I open my eyes, glance around, and that massive tri-planar wing disappears. My black battlewagon disappears...my rally car dissipates and all I'm left with is my parents' living room, the tiny TV off to the right, and a chipped and scarred grey Impreza covered in mud grinning quietly to himself outside, guzzling my petrol like a drunken sailor on the turps and wishing I would hurry up and find out which sensor's gone bung next...the smile fades, but the tears don't.
After all, how much blood, sweat and tears will it take before any of this becomes reality. I've already spent $35,000 on my little grey, scarred Impreza. Yes, that's not a typo...all five figures are counted in my blood and soul. He's still slow...he's still bedraggled...he's still got issues, and at least another $20,000 to go. And that's barely a dent in a bloody mortgage. The battlewagon sits idle elsewhere, begging for black paint, begging for a gearbox and somewhat useful tyres. She awaits my cold hard cash patiently yet longingly, pleading to be driven as all Subarus deserve.
Happiness - bedfellow of complete and utter depression.
It begs the question. Why do we humans do this to ourselves - what is the point in a 'higher intelligence', when it brings us naught but misery? My cat seems happy enough. Meows for food, kills a few birds, accepts adoration, sleeps in the sun, commandeers a lap for a while, demands more food and sleeps off another happy day. She's a clever little chick, but she ain't no rocket scientist; it seems to work well enough for her.
Money, depression, debt, trouble, happiness...what a volatile, toxic mix.
$30 million NZ. It's a fair amount of cash.
And it did go; five 2nd division winners, with the winnings being split $6m each way. Two tickets were from Auckland.
Tell you what, if that volume of cash landed in my chubby little hands, I would be hard-pressed to tell you that happiness can't be bought.