How To Be Happy

“Don’t Worry,” begins the famous chorus sung by Bobby McFerrin. “Be Happy,” it continues, no hint of information on how to follow through on this order, instead flying off into a digressive series of ‘oohs’ to distract from the lack of instruction. Instead he simply lists a set of issues people encounter that would be genuine causes for ‘worry’, but insists that worrying will actually ‘make it double’, as though the concept of ‘having no place to lay your head’ is quantifiable and subject to mathematical processes.

How does one achieve happiness then Bobby? Because frankly, the only reason I pay my rent is because I’m worried that if I don’t, I’ll have nowhere to live. “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” Cheers Bobby, now I’m homeless. Oh Bobby, by the way, I found a lump while taking a shower, what should I do? “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” yeah you’re right, it’s probably nothing. If I ignore it, it might just go away. Worry and happiness are not mutually exclusive concepts; if they were, rollercoasters would be fucking dull. The whole reason we enjoy thrill-seeking behaviour is because of the risk involved, which causes a release of adrenaline, without having to do anything too dangerous like climb up the side of an angry bear, or parachute into a cannon.

But that’s just fleeting happiness isn’t it? What we’re talking about here is long-term fulfilment, contentment, a feeling that you know your place in the world and have achieved something of note, and that’s not a feeling that comes from watching exciting television or eating chocolate, despite aggressive marketing campaigns to the contrary. And with this more profound level of happiness comes a more elusive route to achieve it, because while almost everyone enjoys sitting down to watch a good movie, I know for a fact that my lifelong goal of becoming a comedian, while not unique, would be downright inconvenient for my imaginary next door neighbour, Paul. If I started suggesting that in order to feel happy, he should start trying to make roomfuls of strangers laugh, he might very well give up fishing, a past-time that I know for a fact (because I made him up) Paul loves very much. And what would his children think of their 53-year-old father, a man with no previous interest in comedy, if he suddenly started trying to make it on the circuit with material about misunderstanding microwave instructions on ready meals? “Pierce film with a knife? The number of DVDs I’ve ruined…”

But then what would make him happy? Does he even care? Is it enough for him to watch EastEnders every night, with its rolling cliff-hangers and no resolution, like a perpetually delayed orgasm that builds into 30 years of addictive agony? Or does he want something more? Maybe Paul always wanted to write short stories about cowboys, or start up his own knitting website. If he’s looking for happiness through a television screen, he’s looking in the wrong place, unless he stumbles upon back-to-back adverts for SquareSpace and a local sale on wool, and that’s rather unlikely. If only because SquareSpace seem to frugally limit their marketing, steering clear of TV, and only choosing to sponsor every single podcast I’ve ever listened to.

Typing ‘How’ into Google yields a list of potential common completed searches, and top of that list is, ‘How to be Happy’, which shows that people don’t know how to achieve their own happiness, but also that many are after a quick-fix solution, hoping that by following an easily-digestible list on the internet, they can make their life complete. I think there’s something to be said for the idea that the baby boomer generation and those that came before, didn’t pursue these wacky goals because the options just didn’t exist to them. Now we fetishise people who work in the hardest-to-crack industries, thinking happiness lies that way, simply because they are the makers of the very entertainment that used to keep us so blissfully ignorant.

What happened to the kids that wanted to be firefighters, scientists and astronauts? Not deterred by the fact that, statistically speaking, no one has ever been an astronaut. I have no idea if this generalisation is true; presumably loads of kids still want to do these jobs, but a whole lot more think that happiness comes from the wrong places, like bullying or ITV2.

I’m not one to talk. Like I said, my ambition is to be in an industry that nurtures self-doubt and owes a lot to TV. So far it’s making me happy, but I know what Paul would say (because I made him up), he’d say, “Once cooked, stand for 1 minute? Fuck that, I’ve just got back from work, I’m sitting down!” (End to rapturous applause. Paul leaves the stage. Curtains.)

Next time on the Bandwagon, I invite twelve greengrocers over to my house for a debate on apostrophes.