A jarring of emotion

How does one measure happiness and success?

It's a question I found myself asking not so long ago. Recently, I received an e-mail from an old colleague of mine, with whom I hadn't spoken in over 5 years. It's inaccurate to call this person a friend, as we were the most passing of acquaintances and our social circles rarely meshed. Needless to say I was surprised at having received the e-mail in the first place, but even more taken aback by its contents. Aside from assorted small talk, there stood the glaring statement: "I've finished graduate school, recently gotten married, and just now have a child on the way."

Of course, compulsory congratulations followed on my behalf. But what was I to offer in individual response? Compared to someone who has more than one degree, owns a home and will soon be supporting a family, I couldn't help but feel a bit like Peter Pan. I haven't started graduate studies, usually consider myself fortunate to score a third date, and regard the concept of child-rearing as a foreign practice and something to mull over in another decade or so. It was amazing that two people who were on the same page 5 years ago wound up in totally different worlds. He's buying a house and ordering patio furniture; I'm booking an overnight train ticket to Amsterdam. He's worried about whether Crate and Barrel still carries a wallpaper pattern for the nursery; I'm concerned with finding an affordable hostel during peak season. Clearly, if we think about the 'idealistic life model' to which most of us have been conditioned to strive for since childhood, which of these is more significant?

The fact of the matter is: I spent almost four years really craving a "secure, established, grown-up" feeling. I desperately wanted having those romanticized ideals such as an incredible apartment, a fantastic job, a great relationship and so on. For me, those effects represented stability, security and self-assurance. Having that sense of validation was to be legitimate, and to have it all. But for one reason or another, they didn't materialize. And not by my lack of trying, I have to say.

It occurred to me that rarely in my life have I ever felt satisfied with myself at any given time. I can trace this habit back to adolescence, when I felt like a failure when not placed in the most advanced classes and not winning a superlative during middle school graduation. Certainly, I perceived my family as feeding into this drive in varying degrees. My father would enroll me in math and English classes during my summers in Los Angeles. Shortly after his death, my aunt sent me a sympathy card which read: "Dear Curtis, you are all that remains of your father's legacy now. Don't forget that." Simply put, that sentiment left a big impression on my then-15-year-old mind. In hindsight, it seems like a lot of pressure to put on an adolescent. From then on, I felt as if my failures weren't just strikes against myself, but against him as well. I wish I could say that this doesn't still affect me. But, to some degree, I can't.

Sometimes I feel that I fight a constant battle with my own ambitions -- that feeling that I must always be in competition with peers, this internal craving to achieve more, do more, have more to put on the resume. More career endeavors, more boyfriends, more dates, more education, more money, more possessions and so on. More, more, more. In turn, more just winds up feeding on itself. Clearly I have no problem in commending others for their endeavors; why can't I do the same for myself? Instead of focusing on positive elements, my natural tendency is to dwell on the negative: the unsuccessful job interview, the apartment I can't afford, the guy who didn't call back. The list would continue to include botched professional connections, sabotaged relationships, the various opportunities (in hindsight) I feel passed me by.

As is my wont, I retreated to pop music for inspiration in the midst of this self-examination. "It's not having what you want," sings Sheryl Crow, "It's wanting what you've got." OK, so it's not exactly Emily Dickinson or even Ani DiFranco, for that matter, but it made complete sense at that moment. Being at a remove from the vortex of American culture (save for visits to the cinema and imported foods from visiting friends and my mother), you start to realize that many of the ideals we are so fervently conditioned to strive for are little more than Westernized status symbols. That's not to say that they have no value, but only that one is capable of achieving personal contentment without them. In other words, it's difficult to stop pining for the things that you don't have, and to start being grateful for what you do. While it's important to have ambitions, there's no sense in drawing up game plans of the age you will get your master's degree, purchase your first home or make that lifelong commitment to the man of your dreams. Sometimes it's important to take some time to figure out what the hell you want out of life. Maybe my life map won't be as linear as it is for some, but perhaps I should learn to embrace uncertainty and stop being such a control freak. Last but not least, maybe I need to learn when to quit feeling sorry for myself.

And isn't that what happiness, or at least life, is all about?