The Pursuit of Happiness

The pursuit of happiness has been replaced by the pursuit of stuff. I blame advertising and business school, really. I suppose the government is not totally free from blame, either, but they're elected by us. Okay, fine; it's our own damn fault.

My lovely wife pointed it out when we pulled into Woodfield shopping mall parking (to meet for a birthday lunch at a restaurant there); if there's still a recession, you couldn't tell by the number of cars at the mall in the middle of June.

I may sound like I'm on a soap box, but I'm just as entrenched as anyone else. It starts out with the basic need for shelter. Then, you hear about all the television shows you're missing without cable, so you acquiesce to yet another monthly fee. I made it nearly two thirds of my life without a cell phone, but now I get fidgety when I accidentally forget mine at home.

That stuff is manufactured desire, not worthy of being called happiness. Distraction, maybe.

Yesterday, we met up with some friends we hadn't seen in a few months at a parade while eating ice cream. We rode our bikes along the river path, through woods and past parks with picnics and ball games, covering three towns in the nearly perfect weather. The memory of this past weekend will last for a while. I've already forgotten if there was a season-ending cliffhanger on The Office.

Some stuff doesn't cost anything and stays with you for your entire life. Some stuff can't be replaced. Some stuff can't be purged. The happiness you get from buying a television (even a killer HD monitor like we got) is a fleeting zap of information across a synapse. It's not hard-wired.

If you haven't, or haven't in a while, please read "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place". (Link goes to the full text of the short story.)