A few weeks ago, J and I were at Blue Dahlia, and one of the server asked us what the meaning of life was. I answered “to love your fellow man;” J answered simply “to be happy,” which is usually my other response.
Flash forward a few weeks to my recent rant about wanting my exes to be happy, and wanting to be more happy, and T rightly pointed out to me that different people operate at different levels of happiness. How many relationships have you been in or observed where one person is miserable and the other person in blissfully unaware of their mate’s plight? T reminded me of a relationship that I was in where I was so horribly unhappy it was almost unbearable, and my guy at the time was totally happy. When I split with him, he was genuinely shocked, and had no clue that there had been any trouble, despite our fights and my outward signs of misery – weight gain, all black clothing, lack of any cooking whatsoever. T stated that his level of happiness was the same as my level of miserableness.
So the next time you are checking out the green grass on the other side of the street, remember, it may be AstroTurf. The only level of happiness you can ever be sure of is your own, so don’t worry about other people. Just make yourself happy.