Happiness as an orientation

This past weekend, I made a whirlwind trip to the mountains of North Carolina to see some friends who now live in Northern Ireland for the most part, but were back in the States to visit. Other mountain friends came by, and we ate some meals together and told stories and shared what was resonating for us and what scared us and what we hoped for. 

That it was the one year anniversary of Hurricane Helene, the terrible storm that had decimated the economy and life of the area we were in was on everyone’s mind. That it was overcast and rainy made that worse, of course. 

I love these people – most of them were people I knew when I lived in North Carolina, and others I have met on return visits since I have moved, and all of them matter to me. The hardest part about leaving North Carolina was leaving all the people I love behind. Most of these people I met while doing emotionally hard work, and that causes bonds that are not easily broken. 

As someone who blogs and writes and shares things on social media, there is a degree of asymmetrical knowledge when I see people I haven’t seen in a while – while they may not know the whole story, they know the broad beats of my life – the kitten rescue, the trip to the mountains, Renee’s health. 

I generally don’t know anything about what’s going on in their life, so I generally end up asking the most questions. 

But then I got asked the one that stumped me.

“Are you happy?”

I paused, thinking about that question. Am I happy?

“Do you mean right now, with you guys?” I ask. 

“No, in general. Since you’ve moved. In Mississippi – are you happy?”

A curse of neurodivergence is the tendency to take people seriously. When folk ask me how I’m doing, I assume they want to know how I’m doing. So I gave it some thought. 

I live with depression, and while it’s managed, it’s always there. I have periodic bouts of what I would call happiness, but I don’t think I have ever experienced it as a perpetual state, as an orientation. 

So I told her that I don’t think I have ever been happy in the way she means it, but that I am content. It’s much harder in Mississippi than it was in North Carolina on almost every metric except financially. I make more money here, and housing is cheaper here, but I am 7 years in and still don’t have the sort of deep community I had in North Carolina. 

I’m in the biggest city in the state, do very public work, and yet still feel a sort of perpetual loneliness here that I did not experience there. Of course, having two and a half years of your life taken by a global pandemic did nothing to help.

But I like my life. I like that I get to write a lot more than I ever have. I like that I have a house filled with cats and love, a yard with raucous flowers everywhere, and that my wife and I can afford to live in a house that is safe and fits our lifestyle. We have a few friends we are close to, and I get to do work that matters. 

Is that happiness? I’m not sure. But it’s definitely contentment.