My sister gave me the book The Happiness Project for my birthday a couple weeks ago. This was one of the books that jumped to the front of the list because I wanted to be able to talk to my sister about it before she goes back to school in the fall. I’ve found it less self-indulgent of a book than I thought it might be at first and I do think her goal of being happier is a worthy goal. Granted, I think it’s a goal lacking in some substance if for no other reason than happiness is presented as life's ultimate goal. I have thought about this a lot as a Christian and I don’t think the ultimate goal in life is to be happy—it’s to be holy. As C.S. Lewis says, “If you think of this world as a place intended simply for our happiness, you find it quite intolerable; think of it as a place of training and correction and it’s not too bad.” (I haven’t made it to the spirituality chapter yet, so we’ll see how my opinion of this changes over the course of the book.) However, I don’t think that my current level of happiness is anything too special and there is definitely room for improvement, even if it isn’t the ultimate goal.
This is one of the many self-help books I’ve read over that past few years. On the list includes: Chawzon, 48 Days to the Work You Love, Just Do Something, Don’t Waste Your Talent, How to Get a Date Worth Keeping, Jane Austen’s Guide to Dating, Boundaries, and I’m sure there are one or two I’m missing. I hadn’t actually realized how much support I as an individual was giving to dating and life-purpose books. It’s pretty clear to myself that my problem is direction. All of these books cite making goals and trying to reach them and my goals are so fuzzy. They give great tips as to how to get these things—get the dream job and the dream relationship. The problem stems from the reality that I don’t know what I want—in a job or in a man. Or maybe it's not that I don't know what I want as much as what I want feels always out of reach. I found my dream job at IJM (International Justice Mission) a few weeks ago, applied, and am still waiting. I liked this guy but, well, you know. Maybe it’s because I’m a dreamer and idealist, but this is it’s not like I can turn that off. “Stop dreaming.” Have you ever tried to do that? Good luck with that.
Part of the confusion is that for the last few years, I’ve lived as one perched to leave. Like the servant in East of Eden whose dream for decades is to open his own bookstore—when he finally decides to do it, he realizes that he wants what he already has. He likes being a servant to a good man and being loved by two boys. He wants a life where he can read all the time and talk about his knowledge. Once he leaves, he realizes he already has it but in a different form. The dream had taken on its own entity and he lost sight that it had become more and more a dream and less and less a reality.
Lee, once he had given up his brackish bookish dream, made a new kind of place for himself in the house beside Reynaud's Bakery. On the ranch his possessions had never really been unpacked, for Lee lived poised to go someplace else. Here, for the first time in his life, he built a home for himself, feathered with comfort and permanence.
So, I ponder. Since it is a blog post, I'm not feeling the need for a clear, concise ending. Just a few pictures of true happiness:
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