Dave here – I got Harry’s login info as my first blog didn’t come through from Easter(!), but ere’s me spiel:
The Happiest man alive by David James Garnham.
The emotion of happiness is a weird and at times elusive thing. Some would not call it an emotion, but rather an art. I would be a refugee with both feet firmly planted in this camp.
For an ‘emotion’ seems more of a reactive stance – merely a byproduct of one of lifes’ mathematical equations playing out by a simple and unwavering rule. Whereas the ‘art’ is the sculpting and molding of these equations answers, keeping, teasing, and laying waste to what seems appropriate. Lay them out like a tapestry, a sculpture, a painting or prose that is used as a shield much as a weapon itself – That, to me, is the process of happiness.
Friends have recently told me, that in two recent incidences, I seemed to look truly, truly happy. Friends that I have known for years, who say it almost surprisingly, as if it were something not to be expected again, be it out of an aged cynicism or perhaps facial recognition due to a deepseeded detication to beards.
Case 1: The Telstra Road to Discovery launch in Sydney.
Living a lifelong dream of meeting and playing alongside your hero, your muse. The hours spent as an awkward teenager, growing into an awkward adult listening to records over and over – tailoring your shield, taking heart that there’s something out there that you ‘get’, and being able to hold the man responsible? Pure happiness.
Case 2: Sizzler in Maroochydore.
Sometimes you don’t have to intellectualise happiness… Sometimes you just need some cheesy bread.