Why Happiness Is Overrated

Americans think way too much about happiness, in my opinion. Surely, you’ve felt it, too—that overwhelming pressure to be happy all the time. If you’re not, there must be something wrong with you, at least according to commercial wisdom. You must be using an inadequate brand of toilet paper, eating unwholesome breakfast cereal, taking the wrong drug for your itchy skin, or otherwise missing out on the chance to be a perfectly satisfied human being.

When did happiness become something you buy rather than something you are?

I can’t say I’m a consistently happy person. I think my baseline runs more toward the darker side of the blues—cobalt rather than cornflower. I sigh a lot. I always see the risk before the reward, although maybe this is because I was trained as a lawyer, and that’s what a good lawyer is supposed to do. Or maybe it’s inherited; my mother’s smiles were few and far between.

More likely, it’s because I have bipolar disorder. Unfortunately, I’m much more intimately acquainted with the savage lows of depression than the thrilling highs of mania—which is true of the majority of people with this illness. (A study by the Stanley Foundation Bipolar Network found that depressive symptoms are far more prevalent than manic or hypomanic symptoms in both bipolar I and bipolar II patients. Prim Care Companion J Clin Psychiatry, 2005; 7(6): 259–267.)

As a result of my mental health struggles, I’ve experienced great sorrow, loss, and deprivation. I’ve known what it’s like to devalue my self-worth so completely that I’ve attempted suicide on a number of occasions. Fortunately, those days are rapidly receding in my rearview mirror. I don’t ever wish to experience that degree of psychic pain again, but it had one enormous benefit—it’s made me acutely aware of the amazing gift of life I now enjoy.

But am I really happy—i.e., TV ad-worthy happy? Sometimes, maybe often, but not all the time. Not so much that I’m gaga with bliss, like a cocker spaniel when its owner comes home. If I were to put a name to it, I’d say this: I’m content. Which I think is a singular achievement—in fact, I believe it’s the secret of true, shall we call it, happiness.

I’m not the only one who thinks this way. There’s a whole country that knows it: Finland. Despite its bitter winters, dark days, and cold weather, for the past six consecutive years Finland has achieved the top ranking on the World Happiness Report. (The U.S. is 15th on the list.) But I find it very telling that the question asked of its residents was not, “Are you happy?” Rather, it was, “Are you satisfied with your life?” The report doesn’t measure whether people are euphoric; it wants to know if they are content.

There’s great wisdom in this, I think. Happiness is a fleeting burst, which often doesn’t extend beyond its igniting incident. Contentment, on the other hand, outlasts the vagaries of circumstance. It’s a certain way of looking at the world, a benevolent state of being. Happiness is hot; contentment is warm and doesn’t need as much fuel to keep it alive.

But how does one become content? Much has been written and studied about the healing power of gratitude, and I think you can’t be thoroughly content unless you are first thoroughly grateful. There’s a catch to this, though—you can’t really, truly appreciate what you have until you’ve known what it’s like not to have it. So, in a strange way, perhaps life has been kind to me by making me suffer so much in the past. Now, what I seek are not bouts of ecstatic joy but something far deeper and more reliable: the absence of pain. That, to me, is true satisfaction. That is genuine happiness.

Back in the days when I was depressed, I felt very ashamed of my mood—as if I were violating some social law that required me to be chipper all the time. So, I hid my unhappiness in lies and isolation, which only made my depression worse. Perhaps if there were less emphasis on happiness in the world, the stigma of mental illness would lessen; it would be acceptable to be feeling down sometimes. And perhaps we would learn to treasure our quiet contentments: a good cup of coffee, a walk in the sun, a day without drama, and a restoring night’s sleep. We’re 15th on that list, America. At the very least, it’s worth a try.