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Perceptions decide our happiness
COLUMN
By: Emily Hoffman
I needed to get back into the country last week.
I've lived in Missouri for more than two years. I moved here from a very rural area in Nebraska, and sometimes a longing for open fields with cows grazing grips me. So I drive.
During my drive the sky started spitting rain on the windshield. Sporadic drops pattered on my car while clouds drifted by and the wind kicked up. Sun filtered through the clouds, hitting the driver's side with its beams at the same time as the rain. A rainbow appeared.
I turned off the radio. I wasn't putting on make-up or glancing at the mail while driving, instead I thought about happiness. That's what most parents say they want for their children. That's what most Americans say they want more than wealth or even love. I believe it's a desire for happiness that often drives us to get a new car, get married, go to college or take a different job. We think if we get the dream house, that will give us happiness — or if we have a child or win the lottery.
Two emotions that rob me of happiness are worry and fear, something many children and adults fight daily. When we're young, we're worried about grades, whether our friends will like us and whether people will make fun of us on our first day of school. Are our clothes the right brands? We're supposed to grow out of that when we are older, but we don't.
As adults, we agree to volunteer when we don't have the time because we want people to think well of us. We agree with the church's doctrine, the boss or the friend because we want to be liked and not criticized or talked about. We worry about our clothes, our cars and our cell phones. We stay married when we wish we could leave because a divorce would cause gossip or hurt our business.
We worry we're not living life correctly, that we're missing something. We fear the future and regret the past.
While driving I observed a rainbow hanging in the air. The farther I drove, the closer I seemed to get to the elusive band of colors. I knew I'd reach it just beyond the barn up ahead, for the rainbow looked as if it came out of the roof of the building. But when my car reached the barn, the rainbow had moved to the grove of trees beyond.
Yet upon reaching the grove, the rainbow's end disappeared again, moving this time to lodge behind three piles of covered grain. Each time I seemed to close in, the rainbow seemed to move. It was all an optical illusion. The rainbow was never within my reach.
Some might say that rainbow symbolizes elusive happiness. But I say it's a more accurate illustration of worry and fear. Before my move to Missouri I worried about my children, the move, my adequacy and my ability to make the move. I had fears about my future and living this life alone.
I've learned that when I live in those emotions, I'm not living right now. I'm putting my energy into something that isn't there — in a future that hasn't arrived or in my imagined perceptions that others have of me. Whether I'm happy isn't contingent on my circumstances or my wealth, but on my perceptions and mental choices.
Often when I worry about the future, the scenario seems so real, so tangible and the danger so close. But when I get closer to it, it dissipates. All that worry, all the fear, is just like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It simply doesn't exist unless fueled by our imagination.
What does exist is a long drive in the country, a piece of dark chocolate, a glass of wine, the laughter of my children, writing, books and friendship. Those are the tangibles of this life that are the building blocks to happiness.
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I've lived in Missouri for more than two years. I moved here from a very rural area in Nebraska, and sometimes a longing for open fields with cows grazing grips me. So I drive.
During my drive the sky started spitting rain on the windshield. Sporadic drops pattered on my car while clouds drifted by and the wind kicked up. Sun filtered through the clouds, hitting the driver's side with its beams at the same time as the rain. A rainbow appeared.
I turned off the radio. I wasn't putting on make-up or glancing at the mail while driving, instead I thought about happiness. That's what most parents say they want for their children. That's what most Americans say they want more than wealth or even love. I believe it's a desire for happiness that often drives us to get a new car, get married, go to college or take a different job. We think if we get the dream house, that will give us happiness — or if we have a child or win the lottery.
Two emotions that rob me of happiness are worry and fear, something many children and adults fight daily. When we're young, we're worried about grades, whether our friends will like us and whether people will make fun of us on our first day of school. Are our clothes the right brands? We're supposed to grow out of that when we are older, but we don't.
As adults, we agree to volunteer when we don't have the time because we want people to think well of us. We agree with the church's doctrine, the boss or the friend because we want to be liked and not criticized or talked about. We worry about our clothes, our cars and our cell phones. We stay married when we wish we could leave because a divorce would cause gossip or hurt our business.
We worry we're not living life correctly, that we're missing something. We fear the future and regret the past.
While driving I observed a rainbow hanging in the air. The farther I drove, the closer I seemed to get to the elusive band of colors. I knew I'd reach it just beyond the barn up ahead, for the rainbow looked as if it came out of the roof of the building. But when my car reached the barn, the rainbow had moved to the grove of trees beyond.
Yet upon reaching the grove, the rainbow's end disappeared again, moving this time to lodge behind three piles of covered grain. Each time I seemed to close in, the rainbow seemed to move. It was all an optical illusion. The rainbow was never within my reach.
Some might say that rainbow symbolizes elusive happiness. But I say it's a more accurate illustration of worry and fear. Before my move to Missouri I worried about my children, the move, my adequacy and my ability to make the move. I had fears about my future and living this life alone.
I've learned that when I live in those emotions, I'm not living right now. I'm putting my energy into something that isn't there — in a future that hasn't arrived or in my imagined perceptions that others have of me. Whether I'm happy isn't contingent on my circumstances or my wealth, but on my perceptions and mental choices.
Often when I worry about the future, the scenario seems so real, so tangible and the danger so close. But when I get closer to it, it dissipates. All that worry, all the fear, is just like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It simply doesn't exist unless fueled by our imagination.
What does exist is a long drive in the country, a piece of dark chocolate, a glass of wine, the laughter of my children, writing, books and friendship. Those are the tangibles of this life that are the building blocks to happiness.