Elusive HappinessDorothy Ghettuba,
I shall be happy again.
This is precisely what I tell myself rather vehemently and all too loudly. I convince myself that this all too familiar unpleasant feeling will come to pass and tomorrow, I shall laugh again.
But at that present minute, that singular moment, I looked around me at the scattered, tear-soaked mucus-filled crumpled tissues and felt like the main character in a low-budget romantic movie. I was too embarrassed to call my girlfriends and too ashamed to call my mother. I felt rather stupid as I painfully discovered that I must lie on the bed I had made.
“But I shall be happy again,” I shout out loudly . . . to no one in particular.
Yet, in the silence of my heart, I wonder because this whole concept of happiness has begun to elude, and frankly speaking, delude me. I discovered this when I staked my happiness in a relationship that fell apart. Miserably, I followed suit. Was Socrates spewing nonsense when he said that the happiest people are those who never go against their intrinsic feeling or was Shakespeare’s to thine own self be true line simply poetic condescension? And don’t get me started with what the Dalai Lama has to say….
I get charmed effortlessly, enchanted way too easily. Flowers, frills, and fancy gifts don’t do a thing for me. I think of myself as a quasi-enlightened, modern-day young woman, who is drawn to a fellow by his confidence, honesty, ability to have a decent conversation, and the all-important factor: that he is gainfully employed. So when the ex came knocking, I opened the door and smiled, the charming smile I specially reserve for those I intend to disarm.
He was an old acquaintance you see, and rather than dance around the issue with my usual, slightly affected shyness, I boldly said yes to dinner and movie. So over a plate of Toronto’s finest steak and fries, I figured that perhaps this time I had gotten it right. I was seizing the day. I must admit, I was not breathlessly thrilled, but I wasn’t anxiously filled with dread either. Tugging at the back of my mind was a persistent feeling that this could go well if I eased up on the fuss and gave it a fair shot.
So I did and it went well. And one day, it ended—crumpled, tear-soaked tissues, et al. My life as I knew it unraveled. It was the most disconcerting feeling and slowly but surely, I found that my faith in people, in humanity had begun to diminish.
Sometimes I would allow myself the luxury of thought, recalling tales of our bright future and a better tomorrow that he weaved with such honesty. Tales that even I (the ever suspicious, all- cynical one) found to be quite believable. I convinced myself that there had to be some modicum of truth to his words otherwise I would go off like a crazed lunatic
When I woke up missing him (and sometimes I did)—a most painful and hollow feeling I’ll admit—I would coax myself out of my funk. I realised that time is too precious to indulge in these miserable feelings longer than necessary.
So when the ex came back some weeks after our initial break-up with less charm but with conviction that we could work, I thought love would conquer all. I broke my cardinal rule and dated him again. Well love did conquer it for all of fourteen or so days. As he walked away for the second time, I was left speechless, completely and utterly blown away at my stupidity
Not to bore you with the drama, but, his people did not approve of my descent. He is from another country. Of course to me that was a non-issue. We are all created equal right? A tad naïve I know, but I’d like to think we are all equal denizens of this world. So when the pressure descended on him the second time round, he crumpled like he did the first time round and left, leaving me pissed and jaded. To his credit, he had the decency to be embarrassed.
I wanted to hold on to that anger real tight, but there is really no better way to waste your life than with someone that is not sure whether they are coming or going. I should be grateful I got out right?
Right!
I know, I know that in this day and age investing ones happiness in someone else is a surefire way of getting your heart shattered into a million little pieces. It would, however, be quite disingenuous of me to deny that I wouldn’t mind in the very least finding that happiness my girlfriends go on about. For I am done, done snapping my fingers with vain attitude, trying to convince myself that I do not want someone in my life. I am done sitting in restaurants toasting singlehood with a bunch of girls who know deep down inside they would rather be curled up on their couches with their heads on their boyfriends’ laps bored to tears watching The Sports Channel. I am done pretending because loneliness frankly speaking is no picnic in the park!
Which is a kind of self-cruelty if you think about it, and if the horror stories of meet-ups and break-ups are anything to go by, then yes, it is somewhat of a self-imposed torment, which reminds me of boxing—a sport where someone steps forward and gets punched.
But it’s also like the lottery. You have got to be in it to win it. When I was younger, I believed I had all the time in the world and so I took it (my time). Not so much so now. I am now older and wiser, willing to brave the pain and hurt and tell myself that if it doesn’t work with this one, it might with the next one. Now I am more willing to put myself and my heart on the line. Now I am willing to take chances and if I am bold enough and drunk enough, I might visit matchmaker.com
I staked my happiness in a fellow, whose happiness was determined by his family which if you do the math means that my happiness was, for all intents and purposes, in the hands of people who did not know me and for wacky reasons, did not like me.
So you are correct if you believe that chancing your happiness on someone else is nonsensical to say the least. Happiness as I am slowly coming to understand is a state of being and more often than not, is in my hands. It’s actually simpler than you think. You see, we have no control over what people say or do. Our control lies in what we say and what we do. Your happiness is in your hands, in your control, and it sure as hell is your responsibility.
Dorothy Ghettuba is a Writer, Actress, and Singer. She lives in Toronto, Canada.
