Happiness is...

You’re supposed to get wiser as you get older. It’s supposed to be a bit of a recompense for all the wretched things you have to put up with in getting older. But alas, I fear I am, if anything, less wise than I was, say, ten years ago. One of the few observations I think I can make, that has any claim to wisdom at all, is that happiness requires an enjoyment of process. The end result may not be exactly what you hoped, or you may never even reach an end-result. And even if you do, unless it's a once-in-a-lifetime affair, you will most likely have to do it again and again. So you’d better derive some satisfaction from the doing.

I am not a person who enjoys the process of doing most things. I think that’s what makes me an impatient driver – I just want to be where I’m going, so get out of my way so I can get on with it – and a mediocre cook. Cooking requires all that time and effort, and the results are gone in 15 minutes. And then you have to clean up! No, no, I’ve got more important things to do. I very much enjoy a good meal, love dining out, and having a nice dinner at someone else’s house. But I am not interested in participating in the preliminary process at all (which makes my having to eat every three hours – my having to endlessly, endlessly cook – one of God’s little jokes).

Likewise, I love flowers, love beautiful gardens, but have absolutely no interest in grubbing around in the dirt on my hands and knees, coming eyeball to eyeball with bugs. (In the South ‘bugs’ includes fire ants, which are the Devil’s own emissaries.) I was also never able to get into any kind of needle work, although every other female member of my family can at the very least sew, and my stepmother was also a whizzbang knitter.

I can think of only a few processes that I genuinely enjoy. Traveling, for one. Even by way of automobile, so long as I’m not driving (my husband Micheal and I were the perfect travel companions, since he enjoyed the process of driving, and I enjoyed looking out the window). Admittedly the process of flying has become an ordeal, where once it was a real pleasure, but historically, when you didn’t have to all but undress to get through security, when you had room to breath in your seat, and were served real food – it was a process I enjoyed. I love every aspect of traveling by train. And then, of course, I derive enormous pleasure from exploring and experiencing the new places that travel at last brings me to.

I enjoy the process of writing, despite the fact that it can be a kind of agony. Producing a collection of words that say something worth reading, and that no one else has said in quite the same way, brings with it a satisfaction that make the process worthwhile. Exactly as, I’m sure, the excellent meal, the beautiful garden, the well-sewn garment or knitted sweater also make the processes that produced them worthwhile. But I don’t think the final outcome is the only, or even the most important, reason people enjoy doing whatever it is they’re doing. Somehow the process itself gives satisfaction.

Part of the process of writing is going away from it, then coming back to see, as if with new eyes, that this word would work better than that one, that this sentence needs to start the paragraph, rather than end it, etc. And I love that stuff. Love being almost asleep and suddenly thinking of the perfect line for something I'm working on -- rolling over, fumbling for the bedside light, and the paper and pen I keep beside the lamp for just such moments of inspiration. Or driving along, hearing something on the radio, passing something on the road, or just suddenly having a thought, that causes me to fumble for the pen and pad in my purse. This is all part of the writing process.

So my little pearl of wisdom would have it that the more activities for which one can enjoy the process in this way, the happier one is likely to be. Or, if there are just one or two processes that really make you happy – and I don’t know that you can force yourself to enjoy a process that just does not interest you – you would be wise to give most of your time and energy to those activities. My misfortune would seem to be that I fit into the latter category, but have never managed to shake off all the other activities that clamor for attention in this life – things one “should” do, or must do in order to have such and such (e.g., a safe, quiet roof over ones head, food every three hours, money to pay all the bills). Have never been able to make my writing, or my travels – or my writing about my travels – provide me with those necessary such and suches. Thus, while I can see what I need to do to increase my happiness, I haven’t managed to do it. Which disqualifies me, I fear, from the Wise Woman Olympics.