The Pursuit of Happiness

Mont St Michele

On a Thursday, as I have told you in an earlier post, I meet my friends. Depending on the weather we walk and then visit the local fishmonger, then relax in each others company, have a chat and an ale. It is a great afternoon, we never seem to run out of conversation, and I always leave feeling happy. It is a simple afternoon and it generates its own happiness. 

I was thinking of this after over-hearing a number of conversations. The first was a mother. She was bemoaning that as hard as she tried she could not longer bring back the happy times they all used to share together. “No matter what I organize it is always the same,” she said. “They always have things to do and places to go.” 

Hankering after the old days she is missing the joy and happiness of watching them become free beings in their own right. 

The second conversation was a friend complaining that he need a new mobile phone. “Why? “ I asked. “This one is out of date. I hope the next one lasts longer.” The phone he had was at least a year younger than mine, but he had to be up date with all the latest gizmos. 

In reality, both of these conversations were about the same thing. Let me explain what I mean.

If we have a scooter we want a cycle, if we have a cycle we want a car. If we have a car we want a bigger or better one. The list is endless. And so is the pursuit.

I remember workmate who, the minute they got promotion began talking about the next step up the ladder. Or when they had been given a pay hike it was not bringing him any closer who his friend who had also had one. Again the list is endless as is the pursuit.

Even on the emotional and relationships front, our relationships are evaluated on the basis of how many visits, how many phone calls, how many invitations one gets and gives. We seek to create a perfect family of always smiling people around us, and are disappointed if things are not picture perfect. Yet again, the list is endless.
And so is the pursuit.

The pursuit of happiness. This is a well-known and well used phrase. Yet it is in fact a strange term. It in fact makes no sense at all. 

Like many oft-repeated phrases, one repeats it mechanically but it makes no sense whatsoever.

Happiness is not an object or person that can be pursued. It just is.

In fact, perhaps it is this very phrase that is often the seed of much discontent and unhappiness.

The new phone, car, are all part of the pursuit of happiness. 

As I ran this morning I was thinking about these conversations and my own pursuit of happiness, and the next better artwork.  As I reached the 6 mile mark it all seemed to fall into place.

When you pursue happiness, it eludes you. However, when you recognise that happiness is the inner beings natural state, all you need to do is eliminate all that comes between your happiness and you.

I think I need to read that again and again in the next few days. Is it complex or complicated? Not really. 

Todays artwork is the finished Pen and Ink of Mont St Michele. I did take a picture of a stage between the first one and this one but decided just to share the finished work. I wondered long and hard about adding the colour. Too late now to change my mind. 

I have some very fond memories of this place and the visits I made here with family and friends. 

Sadly like so many places the little streets leading up to the magnificent cathedral at the top are full of little shops all selling the same things. 

What next? I think maybe back to a canvas. 

I Am The Invisible Man.

I remember when I was a young lad how I looked to my father as a super hero. I remember the Saturday evenings when he took to the cinema. On the way home he would race me, from the cinema all the way home. Seemed like a mighty long way at the time, I now know it was about a mile and a half. I was probably about 7 or 8 which would make my father about 47 or 48. I cannot ever remember beating him home. Every time I would think this time I will make it, then just at the last minute he would sweep past me. He was a very fit and very proud man and I thought he was a wonder. He was in fact a fairly ordinary man, who painted navel boats in the dockyard.

Some years later when we were out walking together, I challenged him to lift a log. I managed it, he struggled, age was beginning to take its toll. The years of hard work were showing on him. A few days later I saw him in the back garden of our home lifting weights, determined not to give in. He worked till he was 70 years old then had a stroke and could no longer talk or walk without difficulty. It was sad to see.

So why am I telling you this? Well I am more aware of what was happening to him as I become the invisible man. It started some time ago, my becoming invisible. I would go into shops and the young assistant would notice the young people and serve them before me as I was not there. My having a damaged voice also means that in company it is very easy to become the invisible guest. Yesterday I was at a ruby wedding celebration, music playing loads of people chatting and I felt like the invisible man. When you cannot speak above the noise it is easy to be ignored and invisible.

I think had I not taken up painting and began to get noticed around the place as the artist, I might have gone the way of so many, slipped into oblivion. The invisible man.

Now before I become too emotional or depressive let me tell you what made me think about this. I was looking at the bride of 40years and then I saw her daughter and then her sons. In them I could see that she had been quietly building a beautiful future and contribution to tomorrow. I thought of the year I has spent working on the building of the beautiful Abbey of Iona. Like many others I played my part and years from now it will still be there. I will, like many others, not be listed among the builders but I my little part will be in there playing its part in the wonder.

I also hope that just some of the things I hold important will live on in my family, that I have been quietly building and nourishing. Maybe also, just maybe, one of my paintings will last and make me less invisible.

We are surrounded by invisible people and today I am off to unmask a few. I bet I will learn from their wisdom.

This blog is linked to my other    The sands Of Time Move Ever Onward