Recently, I was chatting to a friend. She was a bit down and I was trying to cheer her up, being my usual sunny self when, suddenly, she gave me an odd look and said: “You’re never really unhappy, are you, Rhymer?” I had a moment of clarity. She was right. But when I told her this, she responded with bewilderment. Surely nobody can be happy all the time? That’s weird. OK, I conceded, of course I experience occasional frustration, grumpiness and disappointment, but they are fleeting feelings and usually connected to discrete events. Prolonged periods of unhappiness or anxiety? Nope.
If happiness is a scale of one to 10, I am invariably between a six and an eight. Perhaps the odd, brief dip to four when something genuinely sad happens. But my default resting state is an untroubled 7.5. There is no apparent reason for this. I am lucky enough to live a pretty nice life, but I am not insulated from stress and anxiety. To take an obvious example, my mortgage is about to increase by 50% and I’m certainly not independently wealthy. What’s more, I know plenty of people who are better off than me – and their happiness seems to be normally distributed. There are plenty of unhappy rich people. My sunny disposition seems innate, like being 6ft 2in, which, sadly, I’m not. My wife, who does worry about things and wishes I worried a bit more, has occasionally said that I would probably be exactly the same if I had twice as much money or half as much money.
OK, but so what? Well, until recently I didn’t think much about this. But nowadays we are encouraged and even obliged to explore, interrogate and talk about our feelings. Inevitably, this centres around negative feelings – all journalists know that good news is dull. So you feel a bit out of sync if you are not oversharing like Harry. You start to question yourself – and even feel a bit guilty.
Nobody likes to feel left out, so I tried to think about anxiety-inducing situations I had been in. I remembered the time I was at the Indian High Commission at 5.50pm, queueing to collect my passport for a flight to Mumbai that left in less than three hours. The office was about to shut, and there was a good chance I’d be late for my holiday. A colleague called with a work query and I explained my situation. “Dude,” he said, “I don’t know how you can live like this.” This struck me as a perfectly reasonable observation. But when I thought about it, I realised I didn’t find the situation stressful. With a sort of sunny fatalism, I knew I would catch the flight or I wouldn’t (top tip: everyone should miss a flight – it makes you realise that missing flights isn’t that bad).
What, then, about the pressing problems facing the world? Of course, I’m concerned about the climate crisis and the effects it will have on the world my children inherit. But concern is not the same as anxiety or despair. Incidentally, other people’s unhappiness is one thing that does upset me. I worry far more about others’ feelings than my own, probably because I know I’ll never go below a four.
I once had a careers coach. He was a nice guy, but, ultimately, I think he found me frustrating. I remember him practically wringing his hands, saying: “You’re basically happy but just want to be 10% better.” A few sessions later, he got to the real heart of the matter. “The 10% better thing – you’re putting it on for me, aren’t you?” We parted ways soon afterwards and he went back to coaching frustrated and unhappy would-be CEOs, which doubtless made him much happier.
Lest any of this sound smug, it’s not meant to. I have done nothing to deserve it, nor have I discovered some magical life hack. I won’t be writing a happiness bestseller with a podcast on the side. Indeed, when it comes to the current big conversation about feelings and emotions, I have little to contribute. Unhappiness calls to unhappiness everywhere, but if you’re broadly happy and your outlook is cheerful … well, meh, nobody’s interested.
Of course, I do occasionally meet other people like me, with that tell-tale untroubled smile and an easy-going demeanour. I suppose we could get together to form a support group. But really, what would we talk about?
Rhymer Rigby is a freelance journalist
English (US)