Happiness is scary. At least if you’re sad or frustrated, you’re motivated. But happiness is like a warm bed on a cold morning: there may well be, and probably are, things you need to do outside of it, but why would you want to?
And so, it seems to me, happiness can be its own enemy. The happier you are > the less motivated you are to deal with things, be it growth or grocery shopping > the more things pile up > the more likely something reaches breaking point > chaos and stress > not happy.
But is it maybe even scarier if you stay happy and float along in blissful unawareness of all that’s not getting done? Is that even possible? Or the similar problem – getting sucked into a vortex of contented routine and going along for years without noticing that the happiness is gradually evaporating. It’s unhappiness without motivation… until somebody wants a divorce. (Hmm, maybe I’ve been reading too much Ladies’ Home Journal lately.)
Happiness is like sleeping sickness for your brain and I’m happier when my brain is alert and childlike with curiosity and amusement. This is a strange conundrum. Strange enough that, while I’m sure I can’t be the only person who’s ever run across it, it feels like I might be.