Happiness Itself
A most fruitless endeavor I have often entertained is the pursuit of happiness for happiness’s sake. Of all the things we want in life, happiness is surely one of the most elusive and ephemeral quests.
Whenever I tried to seize it, like sand, it would slip through the small hole at the bottom of my fist. The tighter I grasped, the quicker the specks would flee. At times I might be foolish enough to think that when the specks stopped falling, I had had my way with happiness and established a sort of permanence for my state. Alas, this is never the case, as time makes change the only constant.
If time renders the possibility of eternal happiness a moot issue, what then are we left with? We could obtain everything that we want. Or we could want nothing and have everything.
In the times when I was happiest, I can recall clearly that the conversation was candid and fluid, with barely an acknowledgement of the time passing. There was laughter, there was candor, and there was often a windy breeze. It was just enough to provide the sensation of wind passing by, neither a gust nor a sigh of air. It was perfect. It would land softly on my arms, possibly my countenance, and swiftly move along in no particular hurry, but with the deftness of having some place to go. Between my partner and I, the pauses were perfect, the looking away for a chance to relish the laughter was perfect, the negligence towards the time, place, plot, setting…where we were and where we had to be…was perfect as well. Even the misspoken, mistimed, misarticulated words were perfect too!
We feel entranced under the spell of an enchanting conversation, enmeshed with the moment before us. Every ping has a pong, every this has a that, and the sighs and woes blend together to be resolved.
There is, in fact, a destination for every conversation started even though we don’t design our intent this way. Maybe therein lies the beauty of conversation—in the fact that it cannot be controlled, so it is more like a dance than a plan of attack to conquer.
Maybe it is leaving it up to chance that allows us to be free.
But, as you well know, every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end, and someone is awaiting my soon to be former partner in conversational dance. I’ve had conversations last for a few hours, but what is a few hours compared to the length of a life? We’ll cherish it…we’ll remember it…we’ll grow fond of the times when we were able to converse as such.
At this time, before I typed the beginning of this sentence, I found it difficult to decide which way to take this discourse. They were all so cliché. One was of hope and optimism. Another was dismal and reeked of rumination. Another was open-ended, and left the ending open to interpretation.
It felt like the time to wrap things up and conclude what was stated. The point had been made and so…what was the point of all that? There’s good, there’s bad, and then there’s I don’t know. Is that all there is? I would certainly hope not.