Just comparing the characters in the two words, happy is more than 70 percent unhappy. Alright, from a linguistic point of view that is complete nonsense. Oh well, my A-Level exam in German was the last affirmation needed to confirm that I should pick a career as far away from anything that has to do with literature or writing. I hope you will get my point anyways.
The title would probably make more sense if it would read something like “The happiness in being unhappy” or even “Unhappy being happy”. Why? Because my mood is very similar to the winter in Seattle: Mostly gloomy, with a few moments of pure ecstasy when the sunlight is coming through for a split second. And that’s not even the crazy part, it gets even better: I love it. I love being unhappy. I hate being happy for too long, and I am passionate about it.
Happiness isn’t supposed to last long, it is a very special reward for a new achievement, for something great you have accomplished. Without all the discontent, there would be nothing but stagnation. And I am enjoying this creative depression, this urge to make more out of everything. To look for any opportunity to get this short thrill of being happy about yourself and the world. I know that this doesn’t necessarily make me a more likeable person, in fact it’s quite the opposite.
But what is the alternative? I could try to be happy about everything and smile like there is no tomorrow, but about what? Our earth is far from being perfect or a cheerful place. And just grinning about this won’t make it better. I don’t even really like overly happy people. I secretly think there are two kinds of those people. The first group, usually not the biggest thinker or just little kids, this group is happy because they don’t know that there is more. The other group of people is faking it, they gave up to improve their life and settled with what they have, but deep inside they are bitter and jealous. There might be a chance that life has a happiness curve like a soup bowl, I already covered the kids, and maybe if you do it right and were discontent enough in the middle you gain some happiness looking back at the end. But being really happy when death is creeping closer and closer, I don’t know.
So, long story short. I am unhappy, and enjoy it. And it is paradox, since being unhappy makes me happy, or at least feels good. It is for sure better than the monotony of this fake happiness.
Maybe I would even like to be happy for a longer time, but I can’t really. Wikipedia even says, that how happy a person is depends to 50 percent on the genes. So, since I seem to be genetically bound to be unhappy, I might as well tell myself I like it.