Paper hearts/ Happy people

Paper hearts don't bleed but they do break easily. I don't know what possessed me to write this sentence. But what possesses me to do anything I do? My actions lately... Lately, I have been dancing on the top of a plateau.

Occasionally, I peek over the edges, don't like what I see, then step back and take a look around. I'm stumped. There seems to be no way to move vertically. Seemingly, I can move forward but eventually something's gotta give. I'm back at the edge again. Irritated by this wry conundrum, I wonder what's the point in even moving.

If I think hard enough, I know one person who's overtly happy with the current state of her life. She will remain unnamed. I wouldn't want her to be swamped with unsolicited inquires. I would bug her myself for the answer but I know that her "joy" is internal. The rest of us, we have to find our own. Unless we crack her open like a pinata and steal it but that's a bit extreme. Put down those sticks you savages! It wouldn't work anyway.

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." (Leo Tolstoy)

I don't necessarily endorse the first half of this statement. The second half is what I'm really after but even this portion requires further distillation. Every unhappy person is unhappy in his or her own way. This reduction is no brilliant feat but it is interesting how this works in practice.

• My discontent stems mostly from my lackluster career. (mostly)


• My friend with the fancy high paying job tells me that even though I'm unmarried, I should feel lucky that at least I have a child.


• Another friend who didn't finish school tells me that I should be happy because of my education.


• I tell my married friend who is also struggling with her career that she is lucky to have a loving husband and a beautiful home.


• Then I tell my single friend she should be happy that she has a rewarding career (and great boobs).


• My friend struggling to lose weight would tell all of us skinny bitches to shut the hell up.

And back and forth the circle of malaise continues with each one graciously counting the blessings of others, while rudely snubbing her own. Malaise is fast becoming the new angst. Granted, it's a less confrontational, panicky condition than angst but it still has many of the same pimply, uncomfortable existential undertones. I'm hoping that we will all grow out of it.

Seems simplistic but unless we figure out a way to switch lives, bodies and circumstances, then it's all I've got. Perhaps if I had a bigger budget I could make every one of you a personalized "It's a Wonderful Life" montage, so you could see how special you all are but fat chance. I can barely format this blog. It isn't much but I like the idea of fooling around with the prospect of happy people. It's better than fumbling around with the vagaries of paper hearts.