Embracing the Texture of Life
How can we be happier? It’s the age-old question whose answer eludes generation after generation.
You can read thousands of books about happiness, only to find yourself less satisfied than before. There are professionals, pharmaceuticals, and therapeutic tools that claim to help those who are stuck in a pit of despair. For some people, these methods work, even if for a short period. Others are left feeling more hopeless and less connected than before.
When you plug “happiness” into a search engine, one of the related suggested searches is “what is the true meaning of happiness?” The inclusion of “true meaning” is further testament to the fact that seekers are rejecting other descriptions— probably after failed attempts to be happier. Nietzsche commented on language and truth, pointing out the shortfalls of language by saying:
“The various languages placed side by side show that with words it is never a question of truth, never a question of adequate expression; otherwise, there would not be so many languages. The ‘thing in itself’ (which is precisely what the pure truth, apart from any of its consequences, would be) is likewise something quite incomprehensible to the creator of language and something not in the least worth striving for.”
Language can be treacherous, and there may not exist a more treacherous word than happy. What is happiness? Should happiness be a goal? How much of our happiness can we control? These are all questions I’ve thought about, but ultimately they’re not beneficial.
In defining happiness, I’ll take an Augustinian approach — St. Augustine famously said of time: “What then is time? If no one asks me, I know what it is. If I wish to explain it to him who asks, I do not know.” The same can be said of happiness.
Perhaps there’s a better pursuit— a more flexible one with which we can frame our lives without the baggage and confusion of “happiness.”
Russ Roberts is one of my favorite thinkers. His podcast, EconTalk, was the first one I listened to regularly (it began in 2006). Russ has a knack for tackling complicated topics in an approachable way, all while avoiding the theatrical and political shenanigans we’re accustomed to. He’s currently the President of Shalem College in Jerusalem and the John and Jean De Nault Research Fellow at Stanford University’s Hoover Institution.
I was listening to Russ promote his new book Wild Problems: A Guide to the Decisions That Define Us, when he said something that caused me to pause the discussion:
“There’s more to life than the emotional ups and downs, and what we call fun or happiness. There’s a certain texture to life that comes, say, from being married, or being a parent, or moving to Israel, or having a certain career maybe in a profession that makes you feel full and yourself.”
Texture.
That’s it.
You can’t always be happy. Even if you’ve found the perfect spouse, surround yourself with loving family and friends, and are blessed to do meaningful work — perpetual happiness is unrealistic. But creating a texture-filled life is possible, and as a goal rids you of the pressure to “be happy” all the time.
My daughter is the most texture-adding element in my life — but still, there are moments when I’ve become exhausted to levels I never fathomed, even in boot camp or in the throws of athletic competition. There are times when I’m tired and frustrated, and it could be said that I’m “not happy.” But Natalie adds layer upon layer of texture, making every bit of fatigue and frustration worth it.
How does one add texture to their life? I can’t define texture; otherwise, we run into the happiness-language problem in which people endlessly stalk an abstract definition.
Instead, I’ll briefly mention a few texture-enhancing components of my life:
Relationship with my wife: I’ve spent almost every day with Kate since we were 15 years old, and we never tire of each other (well, I never get tired of her). We wake up at the same time, go to bed at the same time, and spend most of our time at home together in the same room. I’d surely be ready to fight after more than a week in such proximity with anyone else, but not Kate; she’s the ultimate companion. No relationship exists without quarrels, disagreements, and irritations, but the texture dominates (and is even built by) the occasional moments of conflict.
Meaningful friendships: there are drinking buddies, work colleagues, acquaintances, and there are friends. Some relationships come and go with the tide of life — but friends are like rocks on the coast, withstanding wave after wave. The shape of a friendship may morph and become weathered, but it remains. From the core group of mates I’ve had since grade school to more recent friendships that have blossomed during adulthood, meaningful friendships are like the artist’s work with a scalpel blade.
Health and sport: for some reason, as we age, many of us leave behind the joy of playing sports to become mere spectators. Instead of sacrificing the body to make a diving catch, we sacrifice the body by depriving ourselves of adequate sleep, eating nutrient-deficient diets, and succumbing to sedentary lives and damaging addictions. But finding the time to play, compete, and overcome challenges adds to life’s composition.
Creativity: if you were to poll my friends, “creative” wouldn’t be one of the top 5 words to describe me. I can barely draw a circle, my writing is mediocre, and I can’t play a musical instrument. But, I’ve found ways to express myself through entrepreneurship, podcasting, and writing, all of which add texture.
You could expand the list to include travel, continuous learning, and more, all of which can add what Russ Roberts described as a “certain texture to life.” Perhaps adding texture instead of seeking “happiness” will yield similar, maybe even identical, outcomes. But the subtle shift in language alters expectations and perception of results, leading to even more texture and less chasing.
