Is it okay to be happy for no reason? Is it okay to walk down the street positively bouncing, okay to sing out loud and bike as if you could take off from the pavement? Is it okay to want to smile at every stranger and kiss every boy and pinch every baby’s cheeks?
Is it okay if I want to stay in bed all day and if I just can’t answer anyone’s texts right now? Is it okay that life is incredibly painful, okay that every smile you feel forced to present takes something away from you? And what if it’s only worse when someone smiles back?
What if the happiness is frightening because you don’t know when it’s going to go away again?
Or frightening because you can’t explain it, because it’s outside of yourself. And weren’t there those girls, in the seventeenth century or something, who got a kind of consumptive illness where they suddenly started glowing and for a few weeks were bright as flames and then died, extinguished just as suddenly? Any feeling this good must be a herald of impending massive catastrophe.
And then there are real explanations, horribly clinical ones that they have solutions for. It could be hormones, or the weather. It could be a change of scenery or pace or diet or friends or maybe the government’s added something new to the water. Here, put your head in this UV box.
And what about the merits of sadness? Is it okay to miss the self-righteousness of being sad? It’s smarter to be sad. There’s not much to be happy about anymore, we may have lost the last thing when people stopped really dancing and started just mashing their bodies together. Life is getting easier for a lot of us and not a lot better for most of us.
So I’m happy today and I might not be tomorrow, and is it okay if I can’t tell you why?