Thinking About Happiness

A year ago last July, I left my marriage because I wanted to create a happier life for myself. Ironically, in the last four weeks I have experienced the deepest unhappiness I can remember in the past twenty-six years. This is despite the fact that I am doing many, many things that I thought would make me happy. I'm exercising daily; getting outdoors for runs, hikes, and kayaks, playing guitar; I went swing dancing Friday night and plan to make that a weekly event; I'm physically closer to my sister and her family; living in a small, attractive, culturally rich and diverse city with easy access to the outdoors, getting out for social events. These are all good things, and some of them have been essential in keeping me afloat.

Three things are missing:

1. Paid Work: This would meet my needs for financial security, regular connections with people, and a sense of capability and contribution
2. My Own Home: This won't happen until I get paid work in place.
3. Connection and Community

I dearly hope that the first two gaps will be filled in the next few weeks. Connection and community are a much bigger gap.

Every social event I go to reminds me of how disconnected I am from the people I'm with, and how much time it takes to build a relationship with someone. Writing that, I judge myself. Why can't I be more like the Dalai Lama or some other enlightened being who travels all over meeting new people so open-heartedly? Then I remind myself that the Dalai Lama doesn't travel alone; he travels with helpers and companions who he has known and worked with for many, many years. And I think of the quote by Mother Theresa: "The greatest poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved."

It takes time and courage to cultivate intimacy with someone, to really know them and to be known. Generally, our culture does a lousy job of teaching us how to do that. Most of us, and I include myself in this number, are terrified of being that vulnerable, yet some part of us needs that deep connection. I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that the majority of the people I know well are either on anti-depressants or are leaning heavily on alcohol or drugs. I wonder how much of that is the result of loneliness and fear. Those of us who are unable, for many reasons, to create and sustain intimate relationships perpetuate the cycle and even pass that loneliness on to the next generation despite our most loving intentions.

The richest aspect of my experience at LIOS were the lessons I learned about cultivating intimacy. In fact as I write that I see that cultivating richer connections with other people, whether in organizations, teams, families, couples, or with oneself, was what the entire program was about. Right now, I don't think there is anything more important than that.

I also see how easy it is to take our intimate relationships and experiences of community for granted. These become part of the backdrop of our busy lives, so easy to neglect when there are so many demands on our time, so many other places to focus attention. Even when I lived in Vancouver, I remember how difficult it often seemed to make a date with someone -- especially a group of people! -- or even to connect on the phone. It can be so easy to blame the people closest to us for little inconveniences and troubles instead of keeping our hearts open and acting with integrity.

I guess I had to be this alone to fully appreciate the communities I have -- those on the west coast, and my family here and in Alberta. I know many of you reading this already have that deep appreciation, and I respect you for that.

I'm learning much about the cost of tearing my life apart. I guess all I can do at this point is commit to doing a better job of putting it back together despite all my fears. I want to remember what I learned at LIOS and what I'm learning now. I want to stay awake enough to avoid the old patterns and ruts. I want to be brave enough to be a good sister, aunt, daughter, colleague, and friend.

I keep thinking that I'm going to write a lighter, happier blog, that these have gotten too heavy. I'll get there soon, I hope. In the meantime, thanks for hanging in with me.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.