On Happiness, Light, and the Eyes of a Child

In the last couple of posts, we’ve shared a variety of thoughts and research results on what makes a human being happy. And still, we’ve only scratched the surface of the subject. But if so many people have written books and articles and conducted research on the subject, it’s probably because “happiness” is something we all both crave and struggle to attain.
Why is happiness so elusive for so many? In part, I think it’s because it’s a feeling. And all feelings … happiness, sadness, anger, discouragement … are fluid states of being. “If we were happy all the time,” a friend once pointed out to me, “we wouldn’t call it ‘happy.’ We’d call it ‘normal.'”
And yet, some people manage to capture that feeling of lightness more often than others, regardless of the circumstances in which they find themselves. Why is that? As with uncertainty and adventure, I think part of the answer is a matter of perspective. To some people, uncertainty is scary and awful. Period, paragraph, end of discussion. To others in the very same situation, that uncertainty is challenging and uncomfortable, yes, but also an opportunity to explore and learn and experience something new.
By the same token, happiness often depends upon how you view wherever you are, cliché as that might sound. Just before I took one of my cross-continental adventures in my airplane, a friend told me, “Remember, Lane, sometimes you have to remind yourself that you’re having fun.” Which is to say, when you’re in the middle of trying to figure out how you’re going to get through an uncertain patch intact, it’s easy to miss moments of beauty, wonder, laughter, or even happiness if you don’t remind yourself to look for them, and stop long enough to appreciate them when they happen.
How do you do that? First thing, I suppose, is the “stop long enough” part. To pause and allow yourself to really see all that’s in front of you. To let go of the worry about the future, the regrets of the past, and all that isn’t long enough to recognize the gifts of what is. I wrote a post on The Atlantic‘s website last week that spoke to this point. I also wrote an essay years ago called “Eyes of A Child” that made a similar point. Children manage to be completely happy—especially with something as simple as a single gift on a holiday—because they haven’t yet lost the knack of being completely and absolutely in the moment. The rest of us generally have to work to regain that ability, but it’s a skill well worth regaining.
If nobody has died,  and there’s no war or violence turning your world into chaos, there’s a roof over your head and some laughter and love in the vicinity—whether through family, friends, or the simple generosity of strangers—there is reason to be thankful and happy. For there are millions in the world who have less.
On the other hand, as another friend of mine always says, just because the guy in the bed next to you has an amputated leg, it doesn’t make your broken ankle hurt any less. Nobody has ever made someone lost in the abyss of grief or loss feel better by telling them that someone else has it worse than they do. There are times when the going just gets hard and dark. And no matter how you try to look at the fact that you may be lost, but you’re not dead, the night remains cold, lonely, scary and sad.
In those dark nights of the journey, I would wish everyone in the world someone nearby to hold them when they cry, even if the tears only flow inward; a friend to sit quietly with them in the dark to remind them that they’re neither forgotten nor alone. Even the bravest hero on a hero’s journey survives, in the end, only with the help of kindred spirits they meet along the way.
As I write this, it’s Christmas morning. A day loaded with expectations and emotional landmines for many, as past losses dig more sharply into the heart, and worries about the future loom large. But I find comfort in the realization that centuries of humans before us have felt and battled those very same feelings, especially at this time of year. If you think about the holidays that fall this time of year, they are all about finding light and hope in the midst of darkness and struggle. Christmas. Hanukkah. The Winter Solstice. All talk about the endurance and return of light, and the hope that comes with it, even when life is at its darkest. New life emerges. A miracle of enduring light inspires. The sun returns.
Spring is still a long way off, when these festivals and holidays are celebrated. The journey of uncertainty is not over; the coldest part of the winter still lies ahead. But if the ancients celebrated the shortest day of the year, it was in joyful recognition of the changing seasons of life. To celebrate the enduring truth that even in the most uncertain of adventures and the hardest of times, the dark is always followed by the dawn. So even in the dark, they danced, laughed, and reminded each other that happiness sometimes lies in hope … and a balancing of a broader perspective with an appreciation of the small details of the moment: friends, community, love, dance, connection—and miracle of dawning, returning, enduring light.
So in that spirit, all of us at No Map. No Guide. No Limits. wish you a hopeful, warm and happy celebration of all the happiness that might lie in the moment, and all the possibilities, life, and adventure that lie ahead!
 
Lane Wallace is the Editor and Founder of No Map. No Guide. No Limits.