Potato Salad and Human Nature

I once heard someone say that human beings are inherently optimistic. It's an interesting thought, considering that humans also find new things to complain about constantly. Actually, I can't say that this is true of humans in general, but it seems to be an all-too-common trait of American culture these days. In fact, sometimes it seems like how well-off someone is is directly proportional to how much they complain.

For example, a couple weeks ago, I'm standing in line at this fancy-pants deli (the kind with imported water in its drink coolers) in an upscale neighborhood, when this woman walks up to the counter to get the potato salad she ordered. She then gives the guy working the counter a ten-minute speech about the absence of celery in the potato salad and how potato salad really should have celery in it.

Another example: I met this girl in college last year who was planning her wedding. She constantly complained about how stressful it was and how it was driving her crazy. I complain all the time about stupid stuff myself, but still...it was all I could do to keep from grabbing her by the shoulders, staring her dead in the face, and saying: "Look. You're 21 years old, and you've already found the person you want to bleed, sweat, and cry with for the rest of your life (supposedly). People have fought for that kind of love throughout mankind's existence, throughout art and literature, and now you've got it. If you're seriously gonna throw a fit over flowers or invitations, you need to rethink the reason for this wedding."

Sorry, that got really preachy really fast (I was watching this wedding show with my mom and got mad because the brides were annoying). Anyway, another ironic quirk of supposedly optimistic humans is how we tend to settle comfortably into being miserable. In fact, even David Wong of Cracked.com agrees that misery is comfortable (for more, read his Cracked article "Six Harsh Truths That Will Make You a Better Person). The way I see it, misery is kinda like this old arm chair I once saw next to a beach house that probably belonged to a bunch of frat boys. On its cushion rested a cardboard sign that said "FREE."

It stinks. It's got holes. It's stained with beer and potato chip grease. Who knows what unholy organisms lurk within its stitching? But you know what? It's darn comfy. It's still got big soft cushions for your back and butt.  Once you sit in it, you sink until you feel like you'll never get out of it. Misery is quite similar. You don't usually have to do very much to be unhappy, and that makes it comfortable (and free), in a way. On the other hand, as the opening title of The Thief of Bagdad (1924) states, "Happiness must be earned." There's a reason they call it the "pursuit" of happiness. Being truly happy often requires doing lots of stuff (much of which I haven't done yet), and even enduring some misery in the process. However, this is misery in motion. It's not the dull, stagnant kind of pain. It's the pain that comes with trying to do epic things. Like the feeling of being thrown through a window after you karate chop a ninja warlord (and make the glass shatter in cool slow motion). I really wish I could say I've done that.

If you're reading this, thanks for listening to me think out loud, as usual. Now get out of that frat boy chair and go karate chop a ninja warlord, if it makes you happy.