Happiness Strategies | How to be Happy

David Brooks’ column in today’s New York Times talks about the gap facing American voters. It’s not between right and left, not between rich and poor, but between voters’ ‘private optimism and their public gloom’.

It seems American voters are upbeat about their own lives, with the majority satisfied about their jobs, income, and future outlook.

But they’re decidedly downbeat concerning the state of their nation - including the president, Congress, the government’s problem-solving ability and its efficiency.

This ‘happiness gap’ means people are personally satisfied, but feeling threatened by the government’s inability to protect against global problems and macro threats. As a result, what the voters want is for ‘the government to change so their own lives can stay the same’.

My 2 cents

Are people really happy at a personal level? Much has been written (eg in Richard Layard’s book Happiness: Lessons from a new science) about ‘the happiness problem’ - the now-well-known statistic that although (US) incomes have doubled over the past 15 years, people are no happier. It may be that people are generally pleased with their material situation, but whether this translates into contentment is not so clear.

In a recent Sydney Morning Herald article Peter Hartcher cited diverse but compelling evidence of an emerging ‘happiness agenda’ - a push toward making happiness a greater responsibility of the state (which I summarized in The politics of happiness). Part of the reason for the shift was a growing dissatisfaction with the spoils of economic growth.

So perhaps it’s not so much that Americans are sitting pretty personally. Perhaps they are simply less excited by the promise of further economic growth to fund more material goodies. Perhaps that’s why they’re looking for a greater sense of peace.

In home-decorating lingo, I’m what they call anal. My wardrobe is color-ordered. My library is Dewey-decimalized.  My linen is fold-perfect - corner to corner, edge to edge, smooth lines facing out. Neatness and order bring me calm, as well as something I can best describe as happiness.

Until recently, my books were pristine. I’d buy only perfect-condition volumes and read them with care to avoid breaking the spine or curling the corners.

If I thought I might want to return to a beautiful passage of fiction, I’d try to remember the page number. Effectiveness rating: 0%.

To look up an index, I’d perform minor acrobatics to hold open the index page while contorting myself to plaster the relevant sections with post-it notes (to be removed later). It produced neck twinges and paper cuts, and looking up the topic again, as I sometimes do, meant repeating the gymnastics. Annoyingness rating: 100%.

One day, feeling particularly put out by these contortions, I dog-eared an index page and highlighted the entry. I looked around. Nothing happened. I did the same with each reference. Armageddon remained at bay. I kept going, defacing the book but also, strangely, engaging with it. When I’d finished and closed the book it seemed heavier, like the little folds had trapped something extra in them.

I tried it with fiction, dog-earing a page of wonderful prose. I closed the book, then re-opened it at the dog-ear. There was the passage: lovely and accessible.

I now routinely highlight, annotate, spine-crack and dog-ear my books. Before, we had an acquaintance - one-sided and aloof. Now, we have a relationship.

And as with any relationship, we each make our mark on the other.

Postscript: Don’t try dog-earing extraordinary novels like Atonement by Ian McEwan or you’ll end up with a pentagon-shaped book.