The Pursuit of Happiness
Mark K February 25th, 2008
Are there some countries with happier citizens than others? Is happiness something that comes from within, or something you can find by traveling to a happy place? Columnist Thomas Swick asked these questions in a recent article. He describes a new book called The Geography of Bliss, in which author Eric Weiner describes his travels around in search of the happiest countries.
It’s hard to draw any easy conclusions from his findings. The United States, home of the happy hour, the happy ending and the smiley face, did not rate particularly high on the happiness scale, nor did Holland where people are often drawn in the pursuit of pleasure. He found that a fairly wealthy country, Switzerland, and a poor one, Bhutan, had happy populations perhaps due to the beauty of nature there. Not surprisingly, Russia was found to be a somewhat unhappy place, but Iceland – with it’s six months of cold and darkness was actually a fairly happy country.
Weiner points out that Americans, more than people from other countries, tend to believe that they can find happiness by traveling or even moving to another (happier) place. This makes sense, since the United States was populated by people who emigrated here from other lands in the pursuit of happiness.
I have always thought that Americans were known for traveling and that it was a right-of-passage for young Americans to take a journey with a backpack throughout Europe or some other part of the globe. Maybe things have changed with the weakening of the dollar and the fearfulness brought on by 9/11. In his blog Where the Hell is Matt? the author wanders around the world and films himself doing a little dance in each country he visits. Despite traveling tens of thousands of miles a year, he made this observation about himself and his fellow Americans in a recent post.
I didn’t invent world travel. I’m not even particularly good at it. There are lots and lots of people out there. It’s just that very few of them are American.
He contrasts this with his take on Australians:
I have an unabashed fondness for Australians — especially as travelers. They’ve got a sensibility that makes them really good at it. They’re tough, they don’t complain, and they can manage to laugh about pretty much any situation, no matter how bleak or miserable.
Matt travels to some pretty unusual places that require an adventurous spirit. I wonder if his conclusions about Americans not being out there in large numbers are accurate. I wonder, too, what this says about the theory that Americans search for happiness through their happy feet. I’m also wondering how Australians rate on the happiness scale.
Does happiness come from within, or does it come from the places where we live or visit?
- cultural diversity , mindfulness , wandering
- Comments(2)
This is very interesting, Mark. I too have often thought that if I could just travel, or move to an exotic country, I would find more happiness. But, the truth is, happiness must come from inside you because no matter where you go, there you are. And if you aren’t happy in one spot, a change of scene will make no lasting difference. I think the pursuit of happiness must start inside of you. Outside influences can impact the level of your happiness, but it can’t determine it. Like I wrote in a recent post, If you want to be somebody else, change your mind…(The words are a song by Sister Hazel). It starts and ends with you.
I love the point about how Americans may be travelers because of our roots, being immigrants. I think that is a very good point. We so often do things based on where we come from even if we don’t realize why. Interesting thoughts.
I’ve just returned from The Gambia in West Africa. This tiny country follows the flow of River Gambia, slicing through the center of Senegal like a long splinter. The Gambia is mostly known in America for the part it played in Alex Haley’s groundbreaking novel “Roots” about slavery. For it was here that Kunta Kinte, Alex Haley’s ancestor, was torn from his village of Juffure and shipped to America to be sold into slavery.
“Roots” is a devastating story of a dark time. And reading “Roots” while visiting The Gambia made my toubab (white person) soul more than a little ashamed. But guilt, like sadness, is hard to hold onto in The Gambia. The people are so genuinely and infectiously happy and welcoming. “Gambia– the Smiling Coast” reads the advertising billboard, and for once the ad people don’t lie.
It’s certainly not material wealth that makes for the ready smiles and willingness to joke. People live in cement huts with corrugated iron or thatched roofs. The $8 needed for a school term is too much for most parents. We came across a young woman crying in a forest in over 100 degree heat because she was too frightened to return home. She had lost one hundred dalasis (about $5) in the village, and didn’t know how to tell her mother. And yet despite the poverty there is tremendous happiness… happiness, in fact, as large and radiant as an African sun.
In a two week period I held more babies, cradled more toddlers, and danced with more grandmothers than I have done in my life. I never saw kids fighting with each other. The teenagers were so gentle and mellow, adolescent aggression appeared an anomaly. Even the bumsters, the local guys trying to bum a free ride, were more charming than worrisome.
When I ask my Gambian friend Lamin to account for this outpouring of friendliness and good will, he told that it stems from growing up in extended families. “You have to learn to get along with everyone,” he told me. In fact, it’s shameful to be separated from a family member by ill will, and a Gambian will go to great lengths to avoid a fight– the consequences just aren’t worth it.
I think that maybe something else is at work too: When you grow up surrounded by an extended family of people who love you, pick you up, hug you, care for you– you feel safe and secure. And maybe that’s what is at the heart of happiness after all: that sense of belonging.
Of course two weeks is no time to get to really know a place– but my 80-year-old mother, who has spent a great deal of time in The Gambia over the last eleven years, says this happiness is genuine. When she walks down the street she’s greeted by everyone: Barbara, Barbara” they call. Gorgeous young men with faces black as licorice hug her. Everyone knew of my coming. “This is your daughter?” they ask. “This is good” they say, taking my hand with delight. “It is good that you are here.”The girls tell me shyly I look like my mother, “You are beautiful,” they whisper to me. “No,” I say truly, “it is you that is beautiful.” We smile at each other. We are happy.