Weeklies 1: Happiness, Happiness

Weekly Writings Week One: What is happiness made of? Happiness, Happiness “The opposite of love is indifference.” -The Lumineers Once upon a time there lived a man with creased trousers and leather shoes. He awoke each morning in the same house at the same time, with the same things happening outside his window it seemed, because the curtains were always closed. He ironed the creases, he laced the shoes. He combed a part in his hair the same width as the crease in his trousers, and walked down streets as narrow, too, nodding at other crease-walkers and forgetting that maybe their creases were thicker than his, or thinner than his. It was impossible for the man to imagine a life where the crease in your trousers did not match the part in your hair. So he ironed the creases. And he laced the shoes. Indifference, indifference. Once Upon a time there walked a young woman down a street that was not a crease, but a valley. She wore clothes of thick fabric much too large for her frame, and grew blind to anything other than the view of her boots on the pavement. She was young once, and there were dreams. But it is hard to climb when you've been buried. She buttoned her coat, she scuffed her boots. Bills in white envelopes with red stamps built mountains on her desk and buried the typewriter between them. In the evenings she sits and stares at some rusted keys and each evening the mountains grow higher, so the valleys get deeper. It was getting dark in her valley. So she buttoned her coat. And she scuffed her boots. Hopelessness, Hopelessness. Once upon a time Indifference walked down his creases to an office of gray paint where the walls were lined with picture-less books of many volumes. He sat at the gray chair and another man knocked on the gray door, wearing yellow and crumbling the monotony. “Morning, Sir.” he exclaims with the twinge of a smile, handing the man in gray a mug of milkless coffee. “Fine day, isn't it?” The man in yellow looked out the gray curtains and saw not the creases of the man in gray but the hills of the smiling face in the sun. It was easy for the man in yellow to navigate the planet, clearly. His shoes bore no sign of wear. The man in gray looked at his guest. “Why are you so lively this morning?” he ventured, thoughtfully. “It's a fine day to be alive.” Said Liveliness. “It's the same as any other day.” Said Indifference, with a shrug of his gray clad shoulders. “Just so!” And Liveliness left the room, with a wave. Indifference stared into the dark mug and wondered for the first time what coffee might taste like with cream. When Hopelessness in her long coat and scuffed boots was smaller with a shorter coat and clean sneakers she liked the word “poetry” and the children of its meaning. She liked words people bent their heads to read and bent their minds to fathom, she liked painting pictures with the same twenty six letters over and over again. Aspiration, Aspiration. She who wears the smile of happiness, she wrote, repels the shrug of indifference. Aspiration, Aspiration. Aspiration: N, strong desire, goal, intellectual aim Oh, Aspiration, Aspiration, when'd you get Hopeless, Darling? Dear New York, New York, today you introduced us, how kind of you the streets were lined with many people there was smoke in the air smoke in the air buildings falling people screaming but you introduced us, how kind of you “some sweets with that, dear?” he asked from his place in line behind me a crooked smile juggling a bag of candies “why would I want those?” “you look a bit bitter” “that's bold of you” “better than dull of me” “just the sauce for me, thanks.” but somehow I bought the candies and he came to my apartment and we ate every piece outside our windows sirens blared people screamed people cried people died buildings collapsed “I worked there” he said, sprawled across the sofa of my pathetic living room, unwrapping toffee morsels “a long time ago?” “yesterday.” “today, even?” “went for coffee, saw you, made a decision” “what was your decision” “work could wait” you introduced us, how kind of you new york, new york I had new york dreams and he heard the new york screams a perfect pair thirty four funerals, two weeks I joined him at all of them candy after, always candy our dreams were deafened by the screams together new york, new york how kind of you I met a girl today, New York we ate sweets in our apartment I skipped work so I skipped death so I get to not-skip a lot of other things, now I'll bring her with me I guess I've lost everyone else, New York I asked her to marry me today we ate sweets afterwards new york new york you introduced us, how lovely of you we're getting married tomorrow, and you introduced us lots of empty rows in the church because you weren't strong enough and our friends fell from buildings it's okay, New York, you introduced us so I forgive you when I was eight-teen I wrote some stories silly stories, new york, silly stories they were about a lonely girl in a lonely world I liked cliches, new york she did a math problem to figure out if she was happy or why she wasn't happy or why she was and she figured it all out it looked so easy, new york , for her I forgot she was fiction should've remembered Once upon a time Aspiration did a math problem and she asked Contentedness to help her. She wore a thinner coat and shorter boots. He wore denim that could not be pleated and didn't bother parting his hair. They ate candies that turned their teeth pink and made their breath smell sickly sweet. Love love love love love is what we are in, they thought. And they could not fathom why with love at their fingerprints they were each neither happy nor sad. I had everything I ever wanted and I wanted nothing more but still I reminded myself to smile she wrote on the typewriter that sat between mountains that were not yet tall enough to create valleys. So they fixed the problem. Once upon a time, Contentedness started wearing grey and taking things for granted. I'll help you, I'll help you It will make us happy expectation + reality = happiness happiness = gratitude + luck Luck = happiness success + desire + gratification = happiness expectation + reality = happiness that's the one New york, new york love X a career X a dream city = happiness Him X An unplugged typewriter X lots of screaming in New York = equals = equals = equals i'm afraid it's not happiness do I tell him career X marriage X times X times X I don't know what I wanted but it wasn't this equals equals = = indifference so the man started wearing a lot of grey, you see, and pleating his trousers and parting his hair because he got a new job at the place that burnt down, they put it back together again, and he forgot that he had a taste for strawberry toffee and he forgot that he made the decision for her, and he forgot about happiness, happiness. “what makes you so happy today?” Indifference asked Liveliness, in his yellow shirt and bright tie. “It's a fine day to be alive.” “it's just like any other day.” “Just so!” “What makes you happy?” Indifference asked Liveliness. “The mere joy of living.” “That's not all, though. Can't be all.” “Happiness isn't an equation to be solved, my friend.” Dear New York, New York you introduced us. I don't know how kind it was, actually. Hopelessness, Hopelessness. I can't write to you any more, New york, new york I plugged you into the problem and the solution wasn't what I'd wanted don't know if it's your fault but it might be after all you introduced us. So once upon a time the girl with the long coat and scuffed boots unburied the typewriter and let the mountains fall into the valley to create a plane. And she laced the boots and locked the apartment door and threw away the candies. And the man in the gray creased pants stared out his window at the place where things had burned and creases were walked and valleys were flooded and wondered again where Liveliness got his ambition and why Hopelessness allowed defeat and why he wore grey and never had milk in his coffee. So he left the office and walked his creases. And he did some equations in his head. And he never ate strawberry toffee. And he combed the part in his hair to match the creases. And he thought about Hopelessness. And Hopelessness did not think of Indifference. And she wrote about Liveliness. Dear New York, New york today I left him we spit out the candies and I met a man in yellow who does not believe in the equation and maybe he's right and maybe the creases built my valleys and it's all your fault after all you introduced us so she wrote poems on the typewriter and buttoned the coat and made herself believe in what she had scoffed and chased new dreams in new cities with new people and new ideas. And once upon a time, it was nothing special, really. It was all of us, and each of us. And the creases and the valleys. And the hair parts and the trench coats. Compromises, compromises.