Why I'm Happy

People who don’t know me past ten years ago think I’m buddha. Not the svelte Siddhartha buddha, but more like the porcelain chubby fellow whose stomach you rub so you can win at slots or lotto. They think that I’ve laughed all my life, that everything’s been pretty much happy with me in an orange county way, but with a bit more reflection. They think that I’ve always been optimistic, that I’ve always seen the glass as half full. These days, I believe that the glass is neither half full or half empty, but if you take a smaller glass, you can use that same water to pretty much fill it up all the way to the top, and not worry about it. That’s me.

And when I tell them that I haven’t always been this way, they say, “but everyone who talks about you says that they’ve never seen you as anything but absolutely optimistic and happy.” I tell them it’s because those who knew me longer than ten years, I’ve had killed. Well, not really. They’ve just moved to where real estate is more affordable.

(Even though I rarely travel, I seem to mention geography a lot. If I were more self-reflective and paranoid, I would ponder this. But I’m not, so onward.)

So what happened since then and now? Why am I happier, more content? Some examples:

I Don’t Worry About Who Likes Me

I figure that if half the people in the world can tolerate me and the other half absolutely despises me, that still leaves 3 billion people that I can get along with. I can live with that. And out of that 3 billion, there’s about half a dozen that I see on a regular basis. More than that, and I’d go poor going out to dinner so often. If I had more friends, I’d have to work harder to make more money to keep up with so many friends, and I’d wind up getting pissed from working harder and on a bad day might wind up blaming one of my friends for asking me to dinner so much. And then I would lose that friend, and all those previous dinners with that ex-friend would have been wasted, and I would wonder why I just didn’t give that money to charity in the first place.

I Live an Unexciting Life

I’ll be the first to admit that I live an unexciting life. I don’t drink, smoke, do drugs, gamble, gravitate toward drama or addictive behavior, or go to places where people drink, smoke, do drugs, gamble, or gravitate toward drama or addictive behavior. This includes Amway meetings and timeshare seminars. It’s not as much a judgmental or moral thing, but the bottom line is my bank account and health insurance can’t afford it. I simply don’t have the money or hereditary platelets to cover the expense of living this way. I’m a “comfy man” (thank you Eddie Izzard for that phrase) because it’s the cheapest way to live. I should like to live a very long time, being excited about simply being alive and having the ability and clear conscience to laugh about it. When I get the notion, I’ll order a double cappuccino instead of a mocha soy decaf. But never after 6pm.

I Work at Home

When people ask why I work at home, I tell them, “Because I will be able to do this exact same job when I’m 80 years old. I’m ten steps from the bathroom, I can take naps whenever I want, and I don’t have to worry about how I smell. And I can watch Oprah at 3 o’clock.” I don’t make as much money, but then again I don’t need as much money because the only person I have to impress every day is myself, and I’m already impressed with myself, even when I’m in my ratty clothes, uncoiffed, uncologned, and uncaring about office politics. I don’t have the perks of a company-covered health insurance, but I figure that if I don’t go out of my way to hurt myself, I’ll stay healthy and won’t need too much health insurance. If Chinese fishermen could do it for thousands of years, so can I.

I Drive a Honda

A comfy man needs a comfy car. My Accord has over 100,000 miles on it, it’s paid for, and it rides like it’s brand new. I don’t need a new car, my ego doesn’t need a new car, and my friends and family don’t care whether or not I have a new car. I don’t use it to race someone else just to show off my swollen testicles, which will hopefully give it (my car, not my testicles) another 100,000 miles before it dies peacefully of old age. Every so often, I say “thank you, car, for being so good to me”, because good cars like being appreciated. Every so often, I also say, “thank you, testicles, for being so good to me”, because good testicles like being appreciated. Every so often I forget that I divulge too much information.

I Celebrate Things Not Going Exactly as Planned

One of the main reasons that I love hanging out with children is that they personify “Things That Don’t Go Exactly as Planned.” And they’re the cheapest, healthiest, most exhausting (but in a good way) form of entertainment around. When a two-year old wobbles toward a sharp corner of the coffee table, and my honed Spidey reflex makes me whip out my hand just in time to catch the toddler’s forehead before anything bad happens, and the little guy looks back at me and smiles as if he’s thinking, “you are the fastest draw in the West”, that’s cool. That’s cooler than all the reality shows, Jerry Springer episodes, Paris Hilton bootleg videos, Vin Diesel explosions, and the endless trainwreck stories that are told during and occur because of “casual conversation” parties put together. In my opinion, trainwrecks are planned, so I don’t celebrate them. When people go out of their way to look for trainwrecks, I consider that planning. Having a nice, quiet day without trainwrecks has become rare now, and I consider that unplanned, and so I celebrate it.

I Celebrate Imperfection

Probably one of the best things that could have happened to me is that I’ve experienced and witnessed so much perfection already, that I don’t really need any more. After all, how many 70-degree, 50% humidity days do we need in southern California before we can be really happy? How many supermodels can exist in the world? Can airbrushing, bulimia, and Photoshop get any better? I think not. The older I get, the more I appreciate “good enough.” A good enough book, a good enough meal, a good enough talk with a friend. What a wonderful thing, to be happy with “good enough.” Top that off with an afternoon nap, and I’m in heaven.

Of course, there are other factors to why I’m happy, but those described above should give you a good idea about the others. What is here is good enough. I can end my day content, satisfied, and happy. Good night.