Grand Joy and Subtle Happiness

The idea of beauty has gotten out of hand.  Beauty in Nature, in particular, seems to have become about rarity.  Those dwindling areas on our planet with grand mountains or deep forests, vivid colors or expansive skies.  A waterfall with spray landing on the brilliant green woods to each side.  The vista of Yellowstone National Park, perhaps, or the majestic Alps.  Exotic, colorful birds from the rainforests, or the ever-elusive predators that grow more scarce by the day.

This grand ideal of beauty has its place for certain, and brings a wild kind of joy to the heart.  It fulfills us in a way our daily lives can’t compare to, so we worship it the only way we know how: by flocking to see it at any opportunity and capturing it on phones in the hope that the pictures we take will continue to inspire that bottomless depth of joy we experienced while in that place.

It never does, though, does it?  It brings back an echo of the memory, and that can bring a smile to our faces, but it’s never the same again.  To those who never went, but only see the pictures, it brings a sigh of envy at the pale reflection of the beauty we are sure exists if we could only get there.  That indescribable joy of being in the presence of such rare, apparently fulfilling, beauty can’t come home with us the way we want, but still we try.

Why?  Because we think that joy is happiness.  That if we could take that joy home with us, then it would make our whole lives more meaningful.  Joy is not happiness, though.  Joy is fleeting, like the rush of rapids.  It’s breathtaking while we go flying through, but it will end, the waters will calm, and we’ll be left only with the memory that we felt so alive.

Happiness is far more subtle.  Happiness is the undercurrent of the water the keeps the canoe moving.  Sometimes faster, sometimes slowly, but an ever-present feeling.  The problem with grand ideals of beauty is that they only bring joy, not happiness. 

Happiness is everyday.  Happiness is quiet smiles, proud hugs, and daisies.  Happiness is the occasional bad day or misfortune amid a string of laughter.  Happiness is a hobby, a shoulder to cry on, and praise. 

If joy is the dozen roses, then happiness is the herb garden.  If joy is a magnificent rainforest, then happiness is the stand of oaks down the street.  If joy is the clear waters of the open Caribbean sea, then happiness is the rippling patterns on any surface of water.

Humanity is ‘us’, but that’s not really the way to be happy.  Happiness is ‘me’.  I love to look up through trees on a clear morning and see the different shades of green where leaves are in shadow as opposed to in light.  I love to watch squirrels scamper and chase each other through the branches.  I love to stop and listen to the sound of water burbling through a ditch.  I love to look at the pattern of clouds in the sky and watch it shift, even without applying shapes to it.

If we all love mountain ranges, then I like plateaus.  If we all love grand rivers, then I love streams winding through suburbia.  If we all love the colors of sunset, then I love the colors of rock in the Panhandle.  If we all love grand towers of rock, then I love the colors of pebbles on a gravel road.

Beauty can be everyday, too.  Just because I have seen a tree a thousand times doesn’t mean I won’t appreciate it again.  Just because I have been to beautiful parks and breathtaking mountains doesn’t mean the street I live on doesn’t thrill me. 

Just because I’m beautiful when I dress for a wedding doesn’t mean my smile isn’t compelling every day.  Just because I’m adorable when I jump up and down doesn’t mean the way I crinkle my brow when I think isn’t cute. 

‘I’ could be anyone.  However, ‘I’ am not ‘us’.  I am always myself, no matter how many others might be similar.  I never confuse myself for all of humanity.  I recognize my similarities to all of us, but don’t credit everyone else for what makes me amazing.  I am happy, but I don’t know about us.