FOMO and the potential for happiness

I can't stop thinking of the words I said to myself yesterday when I was stuck in a quagmire of FOMO and was looking for a way out — that the same potential for happiness exists no matter what we do.

I first read these words as attributed to physician Chris Ballas, who wrote over on his website the following words.

The goal of adulthood is to let go of the other possible existences and to make the best of the one.

A successful adult is one who understands that it doesn't matter which life you ultimately pick, only that you live it well.

The same potential for, say, happiness exists whether you are a construction worker, porn actor, or wealthy industrialist.

These words have had a profound impact on someone like me who has long suffered the 'otherness' syndrome. For as long as I can remember, I've always thought I'd be much better off being someone else, somewhere else, doing something else.

No matter what I did, where I lived, who I was with, this nagging thought rarely ever left my mind.

Even in the early days of D's childhood, when I was still learning how present and content children can be, feeling whole and content in themselves no matter what they're doing, I used to worry that we weren't having enough outdoor play, we weren't having enough playdates, and that I ought to be providing more, doing more, engineering more experiences for D to have a good childhood.

It was exhausting and unsustainable, to say the least.

No matter how much I did, it never felt enough. And whatever I did, that too ended up becoming robbed of joy and innocence.

Of the three sentences of Dr. Ballas above, I clung to the first two for a long time. And in doing so, I misinterpreted them pretty badly.

Gripped by the idea of 'living well', I thought that I had to turn this life of mine into such a success that the concept of otherness would cease to haunt me.

So what does 'living well' mean? Being very ambitious? Writing an endless number of outstanding stories? Being an excellent mother whose child shines in every activity he chooses to do?

I was obssessed with the thought of excellence. That I had to be the best in my field, the best at whatever I chose to do, that there was no place for mediocrity in my undertakings.

Exhausting and unsustainable again!

It was only yesterday that Dr. Ballas's third sentence came to my rescue.

The same potential for, say, happiness exists whether you are a construction worker, porn actor, or wealthy industrialist.

The notion that the same potential for happiness exists no matter who you are, where you are, or what you're doing came as a liberating salve for me.

I had understood long back that I could be unhappy and anxious while skiiing on the slopes of the most beautiful mountains of New Zealand, I could be utterly discontent walking in the lush greenery of Vancouver, and I could still be haunted by that feeling of otherness while walking on sandy beaches, my feet kissed by the turquoise-blue ocean waters of Australia.

I could be very unhappy no matter where I was, or with whom, or what I was doing.

Which clearly meant that my happiness had little correlation with these factors — where I was, with whom I was, or what I was doing.

My happiness was not, is not, dependent on any of these factors at all.

I recall a time vividly when I was really upset about something — I don't recall what — and went for a walk on the beach. The realization that even a walk on the beach didn't always have the potential to lift my spirits was startling.

I had often believed that Vancouver was my happy place. But when we went there last summer, I had plenty of occasion to realize that even there, surrounded by mountains and beauty and sipping delicious lavender tea latté, I could be discontent and unhappy and feel like running away from my life, from myself.

If the same potential for happiness exists no matter who we are, where we are, or what we're doing, then it doesn't really matter what's going around us, does it?

I could go to a party and be happy or unhappy, and just as equally I could stay at home and play with my child and be happy or unhappy.

Does that make happiness a choice?

I'd say it makes happiness a matter of perspective.

It makes happiness a matter of acceptance of the as-isness of life.

It liberates our happiness from being contingent on life around us being a certain way, on us being a certain way or the ther.

It makes happiness a given.

If that's true, then the only reason we'd tend to stray away from happiness is when we forget this truth and go back to believing that we should be someone else, somewhere else, doing something else.

This tendency to run away crops up when things are difficult, when we're stuck in a tricky phase of a project, when we're stuck in an unpleasant conflict with a partner or a neighbour, when our child asserts his independence by making choices different from our own.

Pain and difficulty are unavoidable. We could live a perfect life and still encounter situations that feel difficult and painful.

There is no alternate route of existence that would have prevented us from facing difficulty or pain in life. Often, we mistakenly believe that such a silver bullet exists, and it is precisely this kind of thinking that ruins perfectly good lives.

So, the next time I find myself wishing I were someone else, somewhere else, doing something else, falsely believing that this otherness would somehow improve my life or help me make the most of it, I only need remind myself that the same potential for happiness exists no matter who I am, where I am, or what I am doing.

My happiness is not contingent on anything external.

My happiness is indeed a given.