Stop searching for happiness

Happiness. It’s such a sought-after commodity that the American Declaration of Independence included it along with life and liberty as paramount.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident.”

That first line right there should tip you off to how full of shit the rest is going to be.

Self-evident?

They’ve made some shit up and now they’ve decided that the shit they’ve made up aka “these truths” is self-evident.

You ever notice the most full-of-shit assholes are always the ones screaming about “the truth” and how they know “the truth” and that “the truth” is somehow known only to them and whatever magical being they claim allegiance to.

Shortly after making a joke about all men being created equal, those founding politicians got down to the important stuff, that the creator—whoever that guy is—has endowed us with “unalienable rights” that include the pursuit of happiness.

What an odd thing to include in a de facto declaration of war against your head of state.

Not only did God create you in his image.

Not only does he love you very much.

But, he also guarantees your ability to pursue happiness.

What utter bullshit!

First off, neither life nor liberty are guarantees anywhere in this universe or the next.

Your life and your liberty can be revoked at any time by the state or another person or your own parents, should they have the good sense to use condoms and spermicide creams and fellatio.

What you actually have guaranteed in this existence is that you have been endowed by your creator to suffer cancer and heart attacks, hurricanes and tornadoes, bankruptcy and carjacking.

This idea of life, liberty and happiness is just that—an idea.

The idea is contained in an essay written by a womanizing, slave-owning magic-worshiper hoping to avoid paying higher tax rates.

There’s nothing noble or philosophical or altruistic about any of those things. Least of which is the childish notion that one can achieve, let alone pursue, happiness.

Happiness doesn’t exist.

There is no such thing as happiness.

Children and dogs and blushing brides and lottery winners aren’t happy … they’re either distracted or stupid. And that’s what we perceive to be happiness.

Think about all the times you’ve been happy in your life.

It’s always because you were distracted by an event: Christmastime, your wedding day, summer camp, chicken pox, new sex partner, binge watching Breaking Bad, being five.

All those times you thought you were happy you were really just distracted or ignorant of real life going on around you.

Just as many heart attacks and knifings and rapes and burned babies and molested teenagers and puppies flattened on the highway happened on the happiest days of your life.

You just weren’t aware of them because you were wrapped up in your own bullshit.

Don’t worry, you’ll get yours.

You skipped past the cancer ward when you were younger but, soon enough, you’ll be the old man scowling at the teenagers, so smug in their perceived immortality.

Don’t pursue happiness.

Pursue relevance. Pursue kindness. Pursue helpfulness. Pursue the realistic satisfaction that comes with a job well done or a bad idea not seen to fruition.

You’re not a five-year-old or a goldfish or even someone dumb enough to believe that a new pair of hundred-dollar sneakers or a new digital gadget or a designer handbag is going to heal the scars of childhood or make your spouse love you more or replace the feeling of peace you once had as a child.

Are you?

Finding happiness without even looking

Everyone seems to have a theory on how you can find happiness. By “everyone” I mean everyone looking to take your money or your allegiance or your mind.

The magic-worshipers promise that talking to thin air and sending your money to their head kook will bring you happiness.

OK. Let’s imagine that you do send a big fat check to the reverend or pastor or maharaja or whoever. And, let’s say you somehow convince yourself the line of bullshit they lay down is believable enough for you to stick with it for longer than your last diet.

How is it that sitting at the foot of some celestial slave-master for all eternity is going to bring you hope or joy or happiness?

I can barely make it fifteen minutes in my dentist’s waiting room—and he has magazines.

And that’s what it would be like: just a bunch of ghost mopes sitting around in some eternal waiting room, waiting to do nothing.

The self-help gurus tell you that all you need to do to find happiness is by unlocking some better you deep inside of … you. Guess what, you is you.

You’re about as you as you’re gonna get.

There is no better you.

You make the choices you make because you are who you are.

Oh, sure, you can go to the gym and try to work off that dozen doughnuts.

You can quit smoking for a few days.

You can stop masturbating to weird Asian octopus porn.

But, at the end of the millennium, you’re still you.

And you will never find this place called happiness.

But, if you don’t get greedy—and pay real close attention—you might find a timeshare available in the Land of Contentment.