My grandmother likes to
say that, if she ruled the world, she would outlaw ending fairy tales
with “...and they got married and lived happily ever after.”
Instead, they would end: “... and they got married, and some days
were better and some days were worse, but they both worked jolly hard
at it and forged a loving mutual partnership, and I guess you could
call that happiness.”
Of course, if I were
writing fairy tales, they wouldn't involve marriage at all. The
happily-ever-after would be something along the lines of “...and
that lonely little girl grew up to have multiple kickass friends on
several continents, and they were most excellent people.”
Then again, maybe
calling that a happily-ever-after is a little premature. As Herodotus
put it, “call no one happy until ey dies.” So, natch, I've been
thinking: what is happy?
Since
I started grad school, I'm happier than I've ever been. I love
California, I love my studies, and I love my new friends (I TOTALLY
HAVE FRIENDS HERE, YOU GUYS). Never before have I so quickly and
easily found a place where I slotted in, made friends, felt at home:
in both high school and undergrad, it wasn't until my second year
that I really got comfortable, whereas here I felt totally settled by
my second month.
That
doesn't mean some days aren't difficult (though so far I've only had
one really awful day, and most of that was fury at a
profoundly horrible decision on the part of the UK government),
and it certainly doesn't mean I'm in a perpetual state of bliss. I'm
still human and this is still a human situation.
The
thing about happiness – or this thing that I'm calling happiness
while I'm still alive, at any rate – is that it necessarily carries
with it an undercurrent of sadness. I've noted this at other times
when I would characterize my general state as happy (final year of
high school, spring through fall of my second and third years of
undergrad, my summer 2010 travels around Europe with the
then-girlfriend): true happiness is, for me, always
accompanied by an awareness that this too shall pass.
Maybe
it's different if you're a real, settled grown-up with, like, a
career and stuff, but as long as you're planning your life in
increments of two or three years, every period of joy you find also
brings you the pain of knowing that it will be over soon. I'm in a
two-year master's degree program; even next year won't be the same,
as some of my friends will have graduated, and the year after that –
who knows?
And
that's the looming shadow of mortality. Any day, any minute, I or one
(or all; oh hai, San Andreas fault) of my friends could snuff it, and
it'd be sayonara to this precarious happiness. Any account of the
good life has to encompass the tragic transience of human existence;
and that knowledge, I think, is what transforms mere surface
happiness into the deep, sorrow-tinged contentment that is joy.
This
too shall pass: it's a source of sadness, and it's a clarion call to
carpe diem, to make
the most of this fleeting delight for as long as you're graced with
its presence.
Hmm. It seems like my favorite fairy tales are twinged with meloncholy. One of my favorite books is "The Last Unicorn" and that ends with the Unicorn-turned-woman breaking up with the prince she loved to be a unicorn and having once-loved as a scar of regret to carry through her immortal existance, but is still happy to bear it.
ReplyDeleteSome of my favorite "fairy tales" right now are the Legend of Zelda games and it's only in the first two games that the protagonist "gets the girl" - all of the rest? The ending typically goes like this: Link loses a friend, wanders/rides/sails off into the sunset until a direct sequel in which he visits a weird dream world, then loses another friend and wanders off into the sunset. If you play an LoZ game, expect a bittersweet ending.
Then my own work... hmm. A lot of my long original stories end with someone or everyone dying. Yeah, I'm weird about that. I try to make it kind of happy-ish, which is even weirder.
I totally understand where you're coming from with the whole happiness tinged in meloncholy thing.