Friday, May 15, 2015

The Happiness Disease

I've noticed of late that there is a clear preference for "happy" people, keeners, positive thinkers, extroverts; as if everything can be glossed over with a smile, a friendly nod and an optimistic thought. That would require an acknowledgement that everything is indeed ok, which frankly, is rarely the case.

"Happy" is not my default setting. I usually wake up with some degree of melancholy and general unease. Happiness feels like work, and I'm not about that. Maybe I'm just lazy, or unmotivated. Are those synonyms?

I'm most certainly an introvert. There seems to be a general misunderstanding of introverts since extroverts are valued so much more. Introverts make people uncomfortable. I'm guessing it's because others can't understand why we would more often choose to be alone than with other people.

It seems pretty obvious to me. Other people are usually really f*cking annoying, especially those sickly sweet, jazzed up extroverts who are basically asking for a punch in the face. It's not that I aspire to be a recluse. I'm just very particular about who I spend my time with, and much more so as I age, and realize that life is short so why would I spend it with people I hate or find generally irritating?

The one beautiful thing about aging is that you start to care less and less what other people think. If everyone is basically obsessed with what everyone else thinks of them, no one is paying attention to you, so why should you care what others think because they're not thinking about you at all. They're only thinking about what you think of them.

I tried to get on the "positive thinking" bandwagon a few times. It's much easier to be bitter and cantankerous, and frankly, much more interesting and entertaining. Being steeped in anger and resentment feels natural to me, and fuels my drinking habit, which I treasure dearly. Also, being a happy writer just sounds like an oxymoron. What would I write about if I were happy? How to be happy? Puke. Besides, that market is completely saturated... with extroverts.

I recently had a profound revelation. I thought my life would miraculously change once I was a playwright with a production under my belt. Well, I'm now a produced playwright, and guess what, jack shit has changed. It's been a very humbling time.

I thought all this "positive thinking" would ensure an unprecedented success for my show. Well, it was a success, but not unprecedented, not entirely unique, and everything is basically as it was before, i.e. me wondering why I even write at all when it feels like I'm losing an uphill battle, then deciding I may as well start drinking before I get swallowed whole by my existential angst. Maybe I'm not visualizing enough or I'm doing it wrong. I was supposed to be an international sensation by now. Perhaps my 104 Twitter followers think I am, and I suppose, for now, that will have to do.


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