happiness & doubt

"Do smoking and drinking affect your relationship with God?" we asked a group of Muslim boys at the hookah bar.

"Yes."

I've been thinking for months now about what this could mean: what are the implications of such decisions? Why do we directly disobey our own beliefs? Why do we do things that keep us from happiness? What is happiness?

Happy [hap-ee] (adj)

1. delighted, pleased, or glad, as over a particular thing
2. characterized by or indicative of pleasure, contentment, or joy

But what does it really mean to be happy? What does that look like?

I think the boy answered that way because he recognized, as many of us do, that it is easier to do what feels ok rather than what is ultimately good for us. Of course we know that smoking leads to lung cancer and drinking to liver disease, but we do it anyways. Just like how we worry about tiny concerns or eat that second piece of cake--because it takes us out of our fears and into a feeling of --dare I say it?-- peace.

 

In a documentary called Happy, the interviewers ask people in different regions of the world what the most important aim in life is. They all say "to be happy" then go on to describe what brings them joy. I am still amazed by the simplicity of it--a rickshaw driver loving his job and his family, and that is his joy. Why do we find ourselves so wrapped up in nonexistent complexities and still fail to see the simple joys?

 

I have been using happiness and joy synonymously,  but I don't think that is true. I think you can find spurts of joy in the midst of depression, but it is the lasting happiness that we ultimately seek.

And how does God fit into it all? If we ignore the earthly pleasures (be they drinks or worry) and turn to God, will we know happiness? Surely the answer is dependent on what a reader's view of God is, if at all, but speaking from a Christian God perspective, I feel a bit lost over it due to my constant recognition that those earthly pleasures seem to offer more than the silence of God.

 

It goes back to the long-term perspective: what is ultimately good for us. We are taught that overindulgence (note: over) in earthly joys leads to consequences (as stated above: a few examples). We are taught that obedience, faithfulness, & repentance to God promises us eternity. I think the hardest part of that is that it's so difficult to envision this "eternity" when all we know is what we've seen--the current world around us.

 

All of these sorts of speculations fascinate me, knowing that I will never have the answers. I can only believe. How do the questions & the doubts affect my current search for happiness? Sometimes I get so wrapped up in the confusion of spinning circles of "what ifs" and "buts" and "hows" and "whys". It's a distraction that sucks me in like a blackhole, taking over and consuming me to distract from my initial destination of the boundless universe of imagination.

I continuously return to the Rilke quote "love the questions like locked rooms". It's the nearest encouragement I have to love the questions from a distance rather than being enveloped.  Sometimes it's incredibly frustrating: even just the knowing that I'll never know. Sometimes it's totally freeing: it could be anything; eternity could be anywhere or anything--the mystery of the outskirts of the universe.

Will we be happy when we know what's next, or can we learn to know happiness when we accept the unknown?

hope eventually

Well, here we are: the fourth of July. A day of hotdogs, fireworks, & good old Americana. This year, I’m escaping to the woods with a group of friends for a few days of camping.

I’m beyond excited to get out of the city. As much as I love it here, I am always missing the woods. And I am ready for some quiet. Seems like things have been chaotic lately—if it’s not one thing it’s another, right? Busy, busy: gogogo. I’ve been counting down for this: quiet, rest.

Even though there is a whole group of us going, all I want is solitude. I want some space to be alone. To write. To read (I got a new book just for this weekend). To enjoy the trees and birds and lack of metal buildings & loud people. I’m not sure I’ll be able to accomplish this, but it’s certainly a hope. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do that I haven’t had either time or brain power for.

Maybe thinking isn’t it, but I certainly need something. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I mean, here it is 1am, and I’m not even tired. Well, I’m tired, but not in the sleep way. I took a one-hour nap this afternoon since I only slept four hours last night too. Last night, I kept my mind occupied by cleaning the apartment. To actually think of things that would be productive to my goals or the present tense felt impossible. My mind felt blank and thus needed occupying since sleep wouldn’t come: hence cleaning.

After writing this, I suppose I should begin to pack for camping. I haven’t done a thing to prepare. I don’t even have food. I’ve already set my alarm to get up early enough to go shopping before our 8:30 departure. Hope the store is open.

Sometimes hope is all we have to hold onto. I think that is one of the best things in the world: hope. (And these three remain: faith, hope, & love.) You know how people will say not to “get your hopes up” for something you dreamt of happening? I’ve been thinking about that a lot & the ways that I have found myself losing hope in my own life or not letting myself have hope in certain scenarios.

I think it’s all bullshit. Why the hell shouldn’t we have hope? Without it, what do we have but a meaningless routine with no chance of improvement? Pessimism. People call me a pessimist sometimes, but I’ve always responded with saying I’m a realist (cliché, right?), but I mean it. I think faith and hope are closely tied—like in Ecclesiastes: a cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

That’s what faith, hope, & love are—three strands tightly knit together. So in this instance: faith and hope. I choose to believe that purpose exists for this earth. I choose to believe that we are not meant to lose hope in what could be.

Sure, we don’t always get what we want—we don’t always get what we hope for, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have hope at all.

Six years ago on this day, I had hope that Aunt Sharon would be okay. That she would pull through. I prayed for it. I hoped for it. It didn’t happen, but that doesn’t mean the hope or prayer was wasted. It becomes a new hope: I hope we meet again someday. All of us. I pray for it.

I believe in hope.

So while on this particular day, my hopes are small—to be alone in the woods, to make it to the store on time—it’s still important to know that we are not stuck where we currently are. We are not stuck because we have hope in something greater or at least that something greater than the most mundane moment will happen eventually.