Yashashree Ghatge

Happiness is a gentle breeze,
calm, cool, and healing;
it relaxes my tensed brain
and eases my pain.

Happiness is a soft melody
that hovers in fragments over my mind;
Happiness is an ocean of joy,
ceaseless and all-encompassing.

Happiness is rain softly drizzling,
silently speaking to us, telling
us stories, asking us to bridge distances
we build between ourselves.

Happiness is magic;
a sip in itself
is transformation,
elevation,
Elation.

Poetry

In a KidSpirit Poem, teen writer Yashashree Ghatge evokes the simplicity and magic of happiness.

Happiness: Abstract Yet So Real

M. Ricard and S. Boorstein

Buddhist teachers Matthieu Ricard and Sylvia Boorstein share two PerSpectives essays on KidSpirit’s summer theme.

To imagine happiness as the achievement of all your wishes and passions is to confuse the legitimate aspiration to inner fulfillment with a utopia that inevitably leads to frustration. In affirming that “happiness is the satisfaction of our desires” in all their “multiplicity,” “degree,” and “duration,” Kant dismisses it from the outset to the realm of the unachievable. When he insists that happiness is the condition of one for whom “everything goes according to his wish and will,” we have to wonder about the mystery whereby anything might “go” according to our wishes and will. It reminds me of a line I once heard in a gangster movie.

“The world, chico, and everything in it.”

Even if, ideally, the satisfaction of all our desires were achievable, it would lead not to happiness but to the creation of new desires or, just as likely, to indifference, disgust, or even depression. Why depression? If we were to convince ourselves that satisfying all our whims would make us happy, the collapse of that delusion would make us doubt the very existence of happiness. If I have more than I could possibly need and I am still not happy, happiness must be impossible. That’s a good example of how far we can go in fooling ourselves about the causes of happiness. The fact is that without inner peace and wisdom, we have nothing we need to be happy. Living on a pendulum between hope and doubt, excitement and boredom, desire and weariness, it’s easy to fritter away our lives, bit by bit, without even noticing, running all over the place and getting nowhere. Happiness is a state of inner fulfillment, not the gratification of inexhaustible desires for outward things.

Among all the clumsy, blind, and extreme ways we go about building happiness, one of the most sterile is egocentrism. “When selfish happiness is the only goal in life, life soon becomes goalless,” wrote Romain Rolland. Even if we display every outward sign of happiness, we can never be truly happy if we dissociate ourselves from the happiness of others. This in no way requires us to neglect our own happiness. Our own desire for happiness is as legitimate as anyone else’s. And in order to love others we must learn to love ourselves. It’s not about swooning over the color of our own eyes, our figure, or some personality trait, but about giving due recognition to the desire to live each moment of existence as a moment of meaning and fulfillment. To love oneself is to love life. It is essential to understand that we make ourselves happy in making others happy.

In brief, the goal of life is a deep state of well-being and wisdom at all moments, accompanied by love for every being. True happiness arises from the essential goodness that wholeheartedly desires everyone to find meaning in their lives. It is a love that is always available, without showiness or self-interest. The immutable simplicity of a good heart.

Psychologists have long believed that mildly depressive people are “realistic” in their outlook. Optimists have a tendency to dwell longer on pleasant incidents than on painful situations and to overestimate their past performance and mastery of things.

This implies that the pessimist tends to go around with his eyes wide open and to assess situations more lucidly then the optimist. “Reality may not always be a barrel of laughs, but you have to see things the way they are,” he might say, whereas the optimist is a genial but incurably naïve dreamer. “Life will bring him down to earth soon enough,” we think. It so happens that this is not true; further studies have shown that pessimists’ objective, detached, and wary judgment is inadequate. When it’s a question of real situations drawn from daily life, the optimist’s approach is in fact more realistic and pragmatic than that of the pessimist. If, for example, a cross section of women who drink coffee are shown a report on the increased risk of breast cancer linked to caffeine, or if a cross section of sunbathers are informed that lying out in the sun increases the risk of skin cancer, a week later the optimists have better recall of the report’s details then the pessimists and have taken them more into account in their behavior. Moreover, they concentrate attentively and selectively on the risks that truly concerned them, rather than fretting vainly and ineffectually over everything. In this way, they remain more serene than the pessimists and gather their energies for real threats.

If we observe the way in which people perceive the events of their lives, appreciate the quality of the lived moment, and create their future by overcoming obstacles with an open and creative attitude, we find that the optimists have an undeniable advantage over the pessimists. Many studies show that they do better on exams, in their chosen profession, and in their relationships, live longer and in better health, enjoy a better chance of surviving postoperative shock, and are less prone to depression and suicide. A study was made of more than 900 people admitted to an American hospital in 1960. Their degree of optimism and other psychological traits were evaluated in tests and questionnaires. Forty years later, it turns out that the optimists lived 19% longer on average than the pessimists — some 16 years of added life for an octogenarian. Furthermore, Martin Seligman claims that pessimists are up to eight times more likely to become depressed when things go wrong; they do worse at school, sports, and most jobs than their talent would suggest. It was demonstrated that pessimism exacerbates depression and the other difficulties cited, and not the other way around; when such people are taught specifically to overcome pessimism by changing their outlook, they are markedly less subject to depressive relapse. There are definite reasons for this. Indeed psychologists describe pessimism as an “explanatory style” for the world that engenders “learned helplessness.”

An optimist is somebody who considers his problems to be temporary, controllable, and linked to a specific situation. He will say: “There’s no reason to make a fuss about it; these things don’t last. I’ll figure it out; in any case, I usually do.” The pessimist, on the other hand, thinks that his problems will last (“It’s not the sort of thing that just goes away”), that they jeopardize everything he does, and that they are out of his control (“What do you expect me to do about it?”). He also imagines that he has some basic inner flaw, and tells people: “Whatever I do, it always turns out the same way” and concludes: “I’m just not cut out to be happy.”

The sense of insecurity that afflicts so many people today is closely tied to pessimism. The pessimist is constantly anticipating disaster and falls victim to chronic anxiety and doubt. Morose, irritable, and nervous, he has no confidence in the world or in himself and always expects to be bullied, abandoned, and ignored.

Here is a pessimist’s parable. One fine summer’s day, a driver got a flat in the middle of the countryside. To add insult to injury, he found that he had no jack. The place was practically deserted. There was one solitary house in sight, halfway up the hill. After a minute’s hesitation, the traveler decided to go borrow a jack. As he climbed toward the house, he began to think, “What if the owner won’t lend me a jack? It would be pretty rotten to leave me in a fix.” As he slowly neared the house, he became more and more upset. “I would never do that to a stranger. It would be hateful!” Finally, he knocked on the front door and when the owner opened up, he shouted: “You can keep your jack, you jerk!”

The optimist, however, trusts that it is possible to achieve her goals and that with patience, resolve, and intelligence, she will ultimately do so. The fact is, more often than not, she does.

In everyday life the pessimist starts out with an attitude and refusal, even when it’s totally inappropriate. I remember a Bhutanese official I often had to deal with. Every time I asked him a question, he systematically prefaced his answers with, “no, no, no,” regardless of what he was going to say afterward, which gave our conversations a comic tone.

“Do you think we’ll be able to leave tomorrow morning?”

“No, no, no … be ready to leave at 9 AM.”

If pessimism and suffering were as immutable as fingerprints or eye color, it would be more sensitive to avoid trumpeting the benefits of happiness and optimism. But if optimism is a way of looking at life and happiness a condition that can be cultivated, one might as well get down to work without further delay. As Alain has written: “How marvelous human society would be if everyone added his own wood to the fire instead of crying over the ashes!”

Even if we are born with a certain predisposition to look for the silver lining, and even if the influence of those who raise us nudges our outlook toward pessimism more than optimism, our interpretation of the world can shift later on, and considerably, because our minds are flexible.

But there is an even deeper dimension to optimism, that of realizing the potential for transformation that is in every human being, regardless of his or her condition. It is that potential, in the end, that gives meaning to human life. The ultimate pessimism is in thinking that life in general is not worth living. The ultimate optimism lies in understanding that every passing moment is a treasure, in joy as in adversity. These are not subtle nuances but a fundamental difference in the way of seeing things. This divergence of perspective depends on whether or not we have found within ourselves the fulfillment that alone fuels inner peace.

This excerpt from Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life’s Most Important Skill is republished with the permission of Matthieu Ricard.

The first sentence in one of the Dalai Lama’s recent books is “The purpose of life is to be happy.” I was surprised when I first read that. I thought the sentence would end with the words “to serve.” As I have followed the Dalai Lama’s work for decades, his emphasis has always been on working for peace and justice in the world. I then realized that, of course, the whole of his teachings is based on his faith that peace and justice and the desire to serve are all the causes of happiness. I understand his basic premise to be that paying close attention (with one’s intellect as well as with one’s heart) reveals the truth that all human beings share the fundamental wish to feel safe and secure and to care for and celebrate one’s kin and community. Mindfulness, a principle practice that the Buddha taught, is the habit of paying careful, close, ongoing warm attention to all of our life experiences. The Buddha, the Dalai Lama, and Buddhists worldwide share the belief that if the world paid that kind of close attention to everything that is happening everyone would feel a kinship with human beings and share a dedication to rebuilding both the peace of the world and the health of the planet. A shared determination to do this rebuilding with each other, and on behalf of each other, would surely be the greatest happiness.

Here is a story I wrote nearly 20 years ago that illustrates the link between Mindfulness and happiness. It is called “The Powers of Practice,” and it’s in my book, Pay Attention, For Goodness’ Sake.

My grandson Collin’s sixth-grade teacher invited me to visit her class and talk to her students about the Buddha and meditation. They were completing a social studies unit on India. I was eager to present Mindfulness as non-mysterious, sensible, and useful because, first of all and most importantly, it is. Also, because I am Collin’s grandmother, I wanted to appear “regular.”

“Mindfulness is about paying attention,” I told them. “Think about how useful it is to be able to concentrate here in class. It’s much easier to finish your assignments, isn’t it, if you aren’t distracted by the people around you?”

I saw that all twenty-six students seemed to be smiling, nodding, agreeing. “And,” I continued, “when we pay attention carefully, we make wise decisions. Do you know what wise means?”

More nodding and smiling. “My grandpa wasn’t wise,” one girl said. “He kept on smoking cigarettes after he knew they were bad for him, and he got sick.” Other students joined in with stories of people they knew who were, or weren’t, wise.

“I heard,” one boy said politely, “that people who meditate can tell the future, or know your past, or even guess what you’re thinking right now.”

“That’s true,” I responded. “Some people do learn that skill by meditating, but Mindfulness is about paying attention.”

“I also heard,” the same boy continued, “that people who meditate can walk over hot coals or lie on beds of nails. We saw pictures of that in our book about India.”

“That’s true too,” I answered. “Sometimes people concentrate so hard that they don’t feel pain in the way we usually do. Then they can do those special things that you saw in your book to prove how concentrated they are. Mindfulness is different. Mindfulness is paying attention in an ordinary way.”

“Collin said,” he went on, “that you once met a woman who was such a good meditator that she could walk through walls. Did you?”

“I did,” I said, laughing, appreciating how polite and persistent this young man was in pursuing his point. “She was old when I met her. She lived in Calcutta, but some of her students, who were my teachers, brought her to the United States so people here could meet her.”

“Did you see her walk through walls?”

“No, I didn’t,” I said. “I guess I thought that if my teachers said she did, then she did.”

“How did she do it?” he asked. I saw that everyone seemed very interested.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure,” I replied, “but what people said was that she concentrated so carefully that her molecules all dissolved and she could pass through walls and reconstitute herself on the other side.”

Everyone nodded as if that seemed reasonable. The questioner seemed content, and so the conversation continued on to questions about how to concentrate. We did some Mindfulness exercises, some sitting still with eyes closed, some standing and moving. Everyone seemed pleased. I had a good time. Three days later a large envelope arrived in my mail with twenty-six thank-you letters. Twenty-five began, “Dear Sylvia,” one began, “Dear Grandma,” and all of them were very enthusiastic and thoughtful, citing particular parts of my presentation.

“I especially enjoyed when we stood up and did mindfulness moving around.”

“I liked the stories you told about the Buddha.”

“What I‘ve been thinking about is how I can tell that I’m not paying attention when I’m not paying attention.”

Thank you for coming to visit our class. I enjoyed everything you said. But I’m still thinking about that woman who concentrated so hard she could walk through walls. And I’ve been wondering, what if she got distracted in the middle of walking through the wall? Would she get stuck in the wall forever?

I loved Robert’s letter. In addition to being charmed by his uncomplicated, non-challenging, but nevertheless sincerely interested curiosity, I was delighted by his image of the perils of distraction. I realized how frequently I get stuck in walls! Mindfulness is paying attention in an ordinary way. I get stuck in walls of lust or yearning, thinking, “If only things were otherwise, then I would be happy.” Or I get stuck in walls of anger and resentment when things don’t go my way. Then, if I’m not careful, I begin to imagine scenarios of ever-so-subtle revenge, which further fatigue my mind and also humiliate me because I am, actually, a nice person.

Every day I bump into “mind walls,” walls that feel solid because the impact is painful. Only if I remember that these walls are the creations of my own mind and that I am continually building them by the stories I re-tell myself can I stop building. Then my mind relaxes and I see clearly. I see that the walls are empty, and then I walk right through them.

I also admired Robert’s determination. He persisted as long as his mind was confused. I imagine that wherever Robert is in his life now, his determination has served him well.

As I read this story now, I think that the most important lines are the ones “I can stop building” and [then] “the mind relaxes and I see clearly.” Seeing things clearly (in Pali, the language that the Buddha spoke) has been translated in modern texts as the word for wisdom. The specific wisdom that the Buddha taught was that happiness depends on being able to accept what painful challenges in life we cannot change while still rousing and committing ourselves to amending those challenges that can be changed. Wisdom and social activism for the good of all can be the cause of peace and justice in the world and ultimately the source of the highest happiness.

Double Happiness: Wisdom from Two Buddhist Teachers

Jash Kalyani

Human beings are an integral part of the world.

A world without humans would have the most untamed and undisturbed forms of nature, where the trees are as green and the rain is as wild as ever. The flowers would bloom, having no one to pluck them, and the cattle would meander, having no one to listen to. Seemingly in such a diverse world, there wouldn’t be any beliefs, faiths, rituals, or traditions, because there wouldn’t be human needs and fears to give rise to them. A world without humans would mean a field without players.

As humans evolved we have found a number of ways to be happy, one of them being faith. Happiness has even been humanity’s top priority, and all that we did and are doing revolves completely around the goal of being happy.

Let’s observe how faith arose. When humans were a new species the world must have seemed limitlessly strange to them. Everything was new. Day by day they started to establish themselves. They discovered fire, made the wheel, plucked flowers, and reared cattle. They discovered how fire worked on food, how herbs worked on wounds, and how paint worked on walls. They noticed how generation after generation continued with discrete legacies and characteristics.

But as time passed, and they gathered more knowledge about the gifted globe, they realized that they had nobody to question when their wits were in doubt, to complain to about the earth’s unexpected treachery, and to tell how sad, hopeless, and pointless their lives seemed during dark times. All they had was one another — seemingly not enough to conquer their heartache. They did not have anybody to see as the maker of nature’s gifts, or to call for help when the water or land condemned their subsistence.

"They did not have anybody to see as the maker of nature's gifts, or to call for help when the water or land condemned their subsistence."

This was the time when they discovered faith and found God, something beyond the world and their creations whom they could be grateful to for earthly provisions and fault for nature’s invasions. Simply put, God fulfilled the need for someone to blame and thank. Thus, the most important reason for human survival is the prevalence of faith on the globe. It is faith that gives hope to humanity, a hope that someone is noting the good, monitoring the wrong, helping the needy, punishing the evil, and empathizing with those who are lost.

In Hinduism, my own faith, God was gradually given the outline of a human body. Hindus worshiped him mainly in the form of idols. Countless stories are told about how Hindu gods evolved during the times of the Vedas. Hinduism’s immortal epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, revolve around different incarnations of Lord Vishnu in two different ages of the earth, the Tretayuga and Dvaparyuga. These epic stories, in which God is always victorious, played a major role in spreading the rituals, morals, and ethics of Hindu culture. Eventually the days of victory began to be marked as festivals. God was the center of attraction and the reason for every celebration. These facts establish a direct relation between faith and happiness in the form of festivities, merrymaking, and thankfulness.

The ultimate goal for Hindu devotees is to move towards God and eventually, by reading shlokas or chanting the name of the Lord in temples, to gain a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment. This satisfaction prevents them from running after more and more wealth, hence keeping them happy. This is an indirect relationship between happiness and my faith.

In India, faith is an essential part of most people’s lives. More than three quarters of the nation strongly believe in God. However, I have noticed there are two kinds of believers — the happy and the unhappy.

Hindus who believe in God try to understand the depth of Indian mythology. They effectively imbibe the ethics and morals designed years ago, and therefore do not have as many grave problems in their lives. They do not need to “bribe” God to fulfill their wishes. They know how to reason with, understand, and follow everything that Hinduism rightly teaches. This faith helps them make the right decisions in life and, at times, prevents massive problems. Day by day they understand their faith better and find more ways to attain happiness, which strengthens their relationship with God. This process repeats, forming a “happy” cycle.

On the other hand, the unhappy believers often have a lot of mental, physical, financial, and emotional stress. They have immense burdens on their minds. In such circumstances actually understanding Hinduism may feel unimportant. What matters most to them is the eradication of all the prevailing problems in their lives. This unhappiness leads to a very different picture of faith than described above, and the devotee’s relationship with God worsens. Without the wisdom others find in Indian religion, this bad relationship sets its own traps and plots and getting out is very difficult. This means it is harder to become happy again. This is the vicious cycle of disturbed faith; the biggest problem my country faces today.

The most dangerous trap is blind faith, followed by superstitions and insensible beliefs. Many people begin to fear God and then follow every ritual without reasoning and love. Moreover, others try to cheat these misguided people for their own benefit. All this leads to an increase in expensive rituals and no happiness at all, only sadder days.

"Many people begin to fear God and then follow every ritual without reasoning and love."

Therefore happiness is the only feeling that can break the cycle and prevent religious people from blindly following with scales on their eyes.

Almost everywhere in my country, when it comes to offerings, people choose money. Of course, everyone does it because they believe in God, but hardly a fraction of them do it without compromise. These people are scared that if they don’t give money God will take their happiness away and not bless them with all that they need. This is how fear overrules faith.

On the contrary, when we actually think about what God needs, it is our love and belief. This can be expressed merely in the form of a few flowers. God is a supporter, not a tax collector. The devotee who possesses the courage to say “no” to gifting money when he doesn’t have enough, despite the fearsome beliefs of society, and instead chooses to place a few flowers on God’s divine feet, has fear-free faith in his heart.

Because of this fear created and fed by the absence of happiness, my country is facing a number of losses. I have written all this against blind faith because I take God to be a companion. I am proud to say that my faith is fear free, and hope that one day the scales will fall from the nation’s eyes, too.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Jash Kalyani examines how fear sometimes stifles happiness and love in the Hindu faith.

The Faith We Found

Jung Woo Bae

There is a widespread view that happiness is obtained through reciprocity — in other words, that how much we receive in any given exchange dictates how much joy we feel.

But what happens when we give without an expectation of anything in return? Are we left feeling empty, or left feeling full?

My Catholic faith has shown me that, in fact, our desire for happiness can be fulfilled through service. From an early age, my parents taught me the importance of service. As a Catholic I grew up learning the act of serving through understanding and love. The Bible encouraged me to fulfill a duty to avoid acting selfishly, and to think not just about myself but about others. As a human being I cannot be perfect in my way of conduct so I realize that I can only strive to fulfill this duty. Yet one thing is clear to me: every act of service gives me an ineffable feeling of happiness.

What is service? Service is giving without wishing to receive. Service is the lowering of oneself for the benefit of others. Service is an act that demonstrates how understanding and humility quenches our thirst for happiness.

I reflect on an episode in the Bible when Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. Jesus humbled himself for the benefit of his disciples, which, to me, is both an inspiring and revolutionary act, because it defies the notion that happiness comes from receiving. This selfless deed was also performed by Pope Francis, who washed the feet of people around the world, regardless of their faith.

The washing of the feet evokes a universal message. Though this particular act may not be done in all cultures and religions, the message it portrays resonates with everyone — that to serve is to give without a desire to be given something in return. This fundamental principle has led me to realize that we are able to feel true happiness once we break away from the parochial mindset that we must be rewarded for our actions.

"The washing of the feet evokes a universal message."

I follow in the footsteps of my mother who used to volunteer her time at the Little Sisters of the Poor, a Catholic home for the elderly. Every Saturday I help serve afternoon tea to the residents. I will concede that serving tea is neither a demanding nor an incredibly impressive task. However, I know that what I believe to be small is significant to those whom I serve. I know this because every time I go into an elder’s room, I am always greeted with a smile and a “thank you.”

Just as the tea I give them satisfies their thirst, their smile is enough to quench the happiness I seek in my life.

Perhaps this is the salient reason I have continued to serve at the Little Sisters of the Poor — to experience and savor that ephemeral moment of happiness when I know that, deep in my heart, I have put aside any desire to be rewarded, and that I have acted with integrity to make a positive difference for the people who need it.

Happiness is what enables me to continue to fulfill my duty, as defined by my faith. I liken it to a beautiful star that, when I leap, can only be touched briefly with the fingertips, but is enticing enough to make me jump and reach for it again. True, there are times when serving can be arduous, requiring an almost testifying endurance of the body and of the mind. It is often difficult to maintain the strength to continue to give without return. However, the greater the hardship, the more satisfaction and happiness we will be to feel once that hardship is over.

My faith has helped me realize the incredible value of service and has illuminated a path that I will always walk on. It will continue to satisfy my hunger for joy, my perennial thirst for happiness.

In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Jung Woo Bae offers his thoughts on the relationship between Catholicism, service, and happiness.

Happiness Through Service

Akash Mehta

Americans donated over $350 billion to charity in 2014.

That’s a staggeringly large amount of money, especially considering that over 70% of it was donated by individuals. And yet, according to The Life You Can Save, “only 3% of people donate based on the relative performance of a nonprofit organization.” When most of us choose which groups to contribute to, we do so without considering whether there are other groups that could make more of an impact with our dollars.

The Life You Can Save, along with organizations like GiveWell, Giving What You Can, and 80,000 Hours, believes that the vast majority of philanthropic donations are doing far, far less than they could. According to their research, a donation to some charities can have as much as a thousand times as much impact as an equal donation to others. These organizations are part of the growing effective altruist movement, which seeks to redress what it sees as immensely wasteful “inefficiency” in philanthropy. Effective altruist organizations work to empirically measure which charities are most effective and encourage donors to direct their dollars accordingly.

Effective altruism is a practical application of utilitarianism, the philosophical theory that the best action, morally speaking, is the one that maximizes “utility” — which, for many utilitarians, is roughly synonymous with happiness. Ever since this theory was first proposed by English philosopher Jeremy Bentham in 1789, it has attracted vehement debate and criticism. So it is hardly surprising that many (in both philosophical and philanthropic circles) have objected to the effective altruist movement. The conversation among these thinkers is deeply relevant not only to the study of altruism, but also to the philosophy of happiness itself.

How Do Effective Altruists Make Their Calculations?

The argument that unfortunately constitutes the heart of most opposition to effective altruism is that effective altruists are miscalculating which charities are most effective. For instance, a critic might raise objections to the Against Malaria Foundation, which many effective altruists currently recommend sponsoring, and might argue that there are far more effective causes to support. But effective altruists welcome debate over which are the most rewarding avenues of philanthropy. None claim that we have reached a perfect or even near-perfect resolution to the debate, and few believe that we ever will. Indeed, debating effectiveness is a fundamental component of the theory itself, as it helps identify ways to achieve greater and greater levels of efficiency in our giving. As utilitarian philosopher and effective altruist Peter Singer writes, “Effective altruism cannot be refuted by evidence that some other strategy will be more effective than the one effective altruists are using, because effective altruists will then adopt that strategy.” Effective altruism’s prescriptions will always be contested and amended; its doctrine is not static but dynamic and self-improving.

Some have also criticized effective altruism for embracing the status quo and focusing on the symptoms, not the causes, of global inequality and injustice. In a widely read article published in the London Review of Books, English philosopher Amia Srinivasan raises this point, but also notes "there is no principled reason why effective altruists should endorse the worldview of the benevolent capitalist. Since effective altruism is committed to whatever would maximize the social good, it might for example turn out to support anti-capitalist revolution."

She goes on to describe a sect of effective altruists that attempts to evaluate the impacts of efforts, usually in the realm of political advocacy, to procure what they call “systemic change.” But can we really measure how such sweeping change will make us happy? “How,” she asks, “would we go about quantifying the consequences of radically reorganizing society?”

I agree that the more far reaching an action is, the more difficult it is for an effective altruist to evaluate its consequences. And Srinivasan is correct in saying, “the more uncertain the figures, the less useful the calculation, and the more we end up relying on a commonsense understanding of what’s worth doing.” But most effective altruists freely admit that the calculation is a tool serving our commonsense understanding, not the other way around. It is only after our intuitions supply us with a sense of the “good” that reason supplies us with a means to evaluate how best to produce the most good.

Effective altruists fully support more research and thought on the impact of revolutionary societal change, instead of merely sticking with their gut instincts. If an effective altruist believed that with the current (or even maximal) level of understanding that this impact cannot be meaningfully determined, then she would be perfectly content with simply putting a question mark next to it. Critics argue that this means effective altruists end up basing decisions on subjective intuitions and gut reactions. But this is no more a challenge to the fundamental theory of effective altruism than the fact that scientists don’t know whether or not there was ever life on Venus is to astrophysics. Effective altruism is above all a method for approaching ethical questions, especially charity, and not a way to guarantee certainty about them.

Let’s look at a specific example. In her article, Srinivasan asks, “do we really need a sophisticated model to tell us that … the American prison system needs fixing?” To Srinivasan, the horrible condition of the American prison system is patently obvious. And yet, if challenged by one of the many American conservatives who disagree, how would Srinivasan defend that belief? Why, by invoking research that shows how the prison system unfairly discriminates against African-Americans, is counterproductive in its stated mission of preventing crime, incurs huge economic productivity losses, etc.

The prison system only needs fixing because of the suffering — the loss of happiness and wellbeing — it incurs. That suffering can only be shown through the kind of research effective altruists promote. Indeed, if an effective altruist was presented with conclusive evidence that the prison system was a force for good in the world, she would reverse her position on the issue immediately. An altruist who objected to the prison system on principle, or who thought its injustice so obvious that she refused to consider the relevant empirical research, would be far less likely to do the same. Thus, Srinivasan is on shaky grounds when later in her article she attacks effective altruism for “its susceptibility to being used to tell us exactly what we want to hear” — with its strict adherence to rationality and empiricism, effective altruism is arguably the least susceptible to that particular weakness of any theory of giving.

Other attacks on effective altruism are less easily refuted. Some have argued that when its logic is fully carried out, effective altruism seems to lead to absurdity. Srinivasan, for example, refers to the earnest beliefs of some Silicon Valley effective altruists that putting all of our resources into furthering Artificial Intelligence research is necessary to “stop the robot apocalypse.” Why? Because it has an expected impact billions of times greater than everything else, including, say, curing cancer. These effective altruists argue that, even if there’s a 0.0000001% chance of robots ever exterminating humans, such a scenario would deprive the world of all future human beings. In other words, a donor would be better advised to donate to efforts combating the outlandish “robot apocalypse” than efforts to cure cancer.

Since we’re interested in evaluating the theory of effective altruism and not its application, let’s assume that the math is correct and the evidence really does say there’s an enormous expected impact of investing in preemptive measures against super-intelligent robots. What then?

One answer is to “bite the bullet,” and to divert all philanthropic funds to Artificial Intelligence research. Such a brazen decision seems absurd, of course. But that should hardly be surprising. Our intuitions are not “evolutionarily trained” for science fiction-esque scenarios like the robot apocalypse. So it’s to be expected that the rational course of action will not jibe with our moral instincts; those instincts are useful for situations similar to the ones we’ve been facing for millennia, but not for hypothetical rebellions of super intelligent machines.

Another answer would be to dispute the goals of this segment of the effective altruist movement. Specifically, it is by no means evident that we should value future life as highly as we do life in the present. Maybe we ought to focus on our own problems in the here and now, and let people in the distant future worry about theirs. Perhaps the indeterminacy of future life, and the lack of any living people personally invested in its existence, should factor into our calculations.

A less satisfying but more practical approach might be to simply refuse to take effective altruism to extremes. In Singer’s essay, “Famine, Affluence, and Morality,”a classic text of utilitarianism, he presents both a “strong version” and a “moderate version” of his argument. In the strong version, he argues that "We ought to give until we reach the level of marginal utility — that is, the level at which, by giving more, I would cause as much suffering to myself or my dependents as I would relieve by my gift. This would mean, of course, that one would reduce oneself to very near the material circumstances of a Bengali refugee."

To paraphrase: we should give until we’re as poor as the people we’re giving to. In the moderate version, however, he advocates only that “we should prevent bad occurrences unless, to do so, we had to sacrifice something morally significant.” Singer believes that, rationally speaking, it would be best if we followed the strong version, but he’s also perfectly aware that neither he nor anyone else will fully do so. Instead of bemoaning human immorality and weakness of will, Singer understands that moving closer to the ideal is infinitely preferable to throwing up our hands and doing nothing at all. Similarly, we might use the methodology of effective altruism when it comes to comparing the impacts of two health-providing charities, but discard it when our intuition tells us it has gone too far. In other words, we might hand over the reins to our intuition before the point of absurdity, but keep them firmly in the hands of rationality until then.

Some philosophers claim that effective altruism is heartless. Among these is Srinivasan, who suggests that effective altruism forces donors to perform a form of triage to prevent the most deaths, unfairly ignoring other patients who also clearly need urgent treatment.. However, the burden is on her to prove that we shouldn’t think of ourselves this way, given that in a very literal sense, when we donate dollars, we are choosing one possible recipient over another. She attempts to do so with the following reasoning: "arbitrariness come[s] to mean something else, ethically speaking, when it is constitutive of our personal experience: when it becomes embedded in the complex structure of commitments, affinities, and understandings that comprise social life … What is required [in effective altruism] is impersonal, ruthless decision-making, heart firmly reined in by the head. This is not our everyday sense of the ethical life; such notions as responsibility, kindness, dignity, and moral sensitivity will have to be radically reimagined if they are to survive the scrutiny of the universal gaze."

Let’s unpack this argument. First, she defends making ethical decisions based on arbitrary personal circumstances. On the one hand, this feels very natural — it would seem wrongheaded to criticize a mother for spending more on her child than someone else’s child, regardless of whether the unrelated child needed the money more. This again appears to take effective altruism to an extreme. On the other hand, permitting individuals to value some groups of people over others is a slippery slope. Presumably, Srinivasan would not condone a racist white altruist who, out of a sense of personal connection, only gave to charities working with white children. And surely she would hesitate to endorse an altruist from Holmby Hills (the U.S.’s richest neighborhood), who, out of an affinity for the community in which she grew up, only gave to charities working in the area.

Second, Srinivasan complains that effective altruism is cold and heartless, and divorces morality from “such notions as responsibility, kindness, dignity, and moral sensitivity.” Essentially, she believes that it turns human suffering and joy into mere abstractions, which are rationally evaluated but not emotionally felt. While I have no doubt that there are some effective altruists who may fit this description, as a theory, effective altruism is quite the opposite of heartless. Instead, it expands the definition of all the values Srinivasan lists: it urges us to be responsible as humans, not merely as members of a particular group; to show kindness to all, not just to those we encounter in our day to day lives; to respect the dignity of the unheard and unseen just as highly as the familiar; to challenge ourselves to become more morally sensitive to the plight of all of humanity, and all of life. Effective altruism is how we act with more generosity, more compassion, and more love than we ever knew — or felt — we could.

Singer, Peter. “Famine, Affluence, and Morality.” Philosophy and Public Affairs. Vol. 1, No. 1 (Spring 1972), pp. 229-243. http://www.utilitarian.net/singer/by/1972—-.htm.

Singer, Peter. “Forum: The Logic of Effective Altruism. Boston Review.” July 1, 2015. http://bostonreview.net/forum/logic-effective-altruism/peter-singer-reply-effective-altruism-responses.

Srinivasan, Amia. “Stop the Robot Apocalypse.” London Review of Books. Vol. 37, No. 18 (September 24, 2015), pp. 3-6. http://www.lrb.co.uk/v37/n18/amia-srinivasan/stop-the-robot-apocalypse

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Akash Mehta examines altruism from philosophical, ethical, and practical points of view.

A Defense of Effective Altruism

Himadri Agarwal

The other day, I began to ask
people what made them happy.
I heard of dinner dates and bookshelves, of
baby’s laughs and rainbows that curl over the sky and wink at the passers-by,
Of cups of coffee and Taylor Swift, of earphones, gaming consoles and children that look straight at you and never stop asking why.

I heard of marble cake (vanilla only), of love letters and football matches where Barcelona wins,
Of historical fiction, of poetry, of French fries dipped in extra ketchup and parks with jumbo swings.
I heard of passion and saw what it meant
as my question sparked a galaxy of smiles.

I heard of satisfaction and knew how it felt
as I caught their infectious laughs, a little louder each time.
I heard of miracles and witnessed them becoming more real than the truth as I could only look on in startled surprise,
For I heard of faith and felt it turn my skepticism to belief before I could even stop, wait, question or realize.
I heard of mouthfuls of chocolate, long texts, simmering pots whistling away to perfection.

The other day, I asked people what made them happy.
One question, a hundred answers and I knew
It does not take a perfect life
to bring a perfect smile.
For somewhere among the drizzle there was a lover of the rain, and somewhere among the plea for autumn a young girl asked for sunshine.
Somewhere among the pennies there was talk of art as a luxury and somewhere among the comforts of life, a boy demanded his father’s time.

That day, talk of happiness lit up the street as even the roads told me how much they await the arrival of the moon that drowns them in white,
Conversations of joy took over as the telephone booth came up to me and asked me to gift it a penny in words.
The sky leaped purple and blue as if to tell me that all those eyes on it gave it its pride,
And as the stars came down that day to wave me a cheerful goodbye,
They told me they lived on glimmers of hopes that turn into flickers of smiles.
Those were the hopes, they said, I had lit into existence with the colors I built of imagination,
And today, a star came down to deliver a thank you note to my palm, just because I asked a single question.

In a KidSpirit Poem, teen writer Himadri Agarwal asks what makes us happy. The whole universe responds.

On a Question

Valerie Zhang

Is it possible to change your life without actually changing your life?

Gretchen Rubin, in her book The Happiness Project, attempts to answer this question. The Happiness Project details Rubin’s year-long quest to amplify the happiness in her life. Each month, Rubin pursues a different set of resolutions, from taking time to be silly to launching a blog, and slowly develops her own definition of happiness. By keeping track of which resolutions work and which do not, sharing her stories through her blog, and reading everything from classical philosophy to Winston Churchill to Oprah, Rubin eventually develops habits that increase her happiness.

At the beginning of The Happiness Project, Rubin develops her own 12 commandments, which range from more specific goals — like “Be polite and fair” and “Identify the problem” — to more abstract mantras like “Be Gretchen.” “Be Gretchen” was inspired by the Dutch humanist Erasmus, who said, “The chief happiness for a man is to be what he is.” Rubin, by drawing on Erasmus’ words, attempts to understand who she actually is rather than who she is when she does activities she does not like.

Rubin describes a conversation with her younger sister Elizabeth about her experiments in happiness. Though Elizabeth thinks Rubin’s decision to dedicate a year trying to be happier is weird in a “good way,” she also questions approaching the question of happiness in such a “dogged, systematic way.” Elizabeth essentially finds turning abstract goals such as “Be happier” or “Embrace now” into action items impossible. Unlike Rubin, Elizabeth believes happiness cannot be approached like a checklist. There is no series of tasks that will necessarily lead to lasting happiness.

While I initially agreed with Elizabeth when I began reading The Happiness Project, I slowly came to realize my own opinion on happiness: it is possible to make oneself happier. Consciously trying to improve one’s happiness in a rational way can result in increased happiness, although the improvement ranges wildly depending on the action.

When I was younger, I correlated happiness solely to having fun. Spending time with my friends and going to carnival games with my family seemed to be the only sources of happiness. As I grew older, my view of happiness became more nuanced. While I still find having fun to be a source of temporary happiness, I believe lasting happiness comes from being able to cope with the stress and worries of life, to recognize and eventually combat the problems in our lives. Thus, if we take actions to eliminate the root problems that get in the way of happiness, we can actually make ourselves happier.

Of course, not all actions will necessarily improve our happiness. When I feel overworked or stressed, ignoring those feelings and continuing to do my homework will not make me feel better. Instead, taking a few minutes to address the root of my stress — be it fear of receiving a bad grade or fear of not understanding what I am learning — is a much better approach

Although one of Rubin’s principles is to identify the problem, I believe her approach is insufficient. Identifying the problem is not enough; we must take steps to address the root of the issue. For instance, if someone recognizes that binge watching television is causing them unhappiness, he or she should not continue to watch another TV series!

Although Rubin identifies the problem, her solutions do not address the root causes of her unhappiness. Her monthly resolutions only scratch the surface of her life. Rather than looking deeply within herself, Rubin turns to generic resolutions like “go to sleep earlier,” “find more fun,” and “exercise better” when trying to improve her relationships with other people or herself. While I agree that exercising and sleeping more can greatly improve one’s health and happiness, I had hoped to find insights that were less trivial. Though other aspects of the story — such as Rubin’s nuanced examination of her habit of nagging — demonstrate more self-awareness, they do not completely make up for the underwhelming elements of The Happiness Project.

I rate this story three stars out of five. Those who are looking for a quick, lighthearted memoir with fun anecdotes will enjoy the story, but readers who would like a life-changing book with tips to apply to their own lives should look somewhere else. Though The Happiness Project contains flashes of brilliance, such as when Rubin details sticking with a class that gave her extreme anxiety, often the story seems quite superficial. Too often does Rubin decide she “might as well ‘Be Gretchen’” without specifying what exactly being Gretchen constitutes, and too little does she explore the underlying causes of her unhappiness.

Perhaps happiness is more evasive than we’d like to believe; maybe changing one’s sleep schedule or eating healthier meals will not lead to lasting happiness. After all, if attaining lasting happiness were truly that easy, the whole world would be eating broccoli and sleeping eight hours a day. True happiness is more complex and subtle than we may think.

In a KidSpirit Media review, teen writer Valerie Zhang offers her thoughts on The Happiness Project, a memoir by Gretchen Rubin.

The So-Called Elusive Art of Happiness

Vanita Sharma

I licked the last drops of stracciatella gelato, savoring my third cup of the day. Across the mesmerizing blue lake, the Alps encompassed the horizon. I looked around for my mom and saw her lingering at a little broken wooden table full of necklaces and handmade mirrors.

We were in Varenna, Lake Como, Italy. A frail African man sat behind the table fiddling with some carving tools. Beside him was a small baby carriage with a few blonde hairs poking out from beneath a gray blanket. As I was about to turn around and continue taking pictures of my sister doodling, I looked back and noticed the racial difference between the father and baby. He stroked the baby’s forehead and fumbled for a worn-out bottle of milk that lay on the bottom of the stroller. He soon started a conversation with my mom.

“Would you like to buy this spoon? Only 15 euro!”

With that simple question, he and my mom delved into an hour-long conversation ranging from making handicrafts, to beliefs of various religions. Slowly the interaction between my mom and this rugged-looking man attracted my whole family to the table.

Originally from Kenya, the craftsman, named Ali, traveled from his hometown to Lake Como frequently as his wife and son lived there. Back in Kenya he had a business selling cooking gas, so selling these crafts was just a hobby. The table was set out with decorated mirrors and bowls. Ali emphasized that he just loved making these artifacts and showing them to the people in Lake Como and starting conversations with them. Besides keeping him entertained and happy, the crafts helped him earn money to pay for the expensive plane tickets to maintain his long-distance relationship with his wife. His life was stressful with responsibility and duty towards his family, and his business at home in Africa, and little money to spare.

While he told the story of his life, I noticed how enthusiastic and happy he looked. I was surprised that a man with such little material wealth could have so much happiness, just by talking to people and making handicrafts.

When I returned home to New Jersey, I remembered the highlight of the trip: gazing over the red-roofed houses and mountains of Italy, letting my mind take in the satisfaction of having such beautiful sights in front of my eyes. I realized that if simply looking over the landscape of Italy could create happiness, anything could.

Ali found his happiness in doing what he loved and finding new people to tell his stories to. I didn’t need to be in Italy to feel more content and happier than ever. I could easily be at my desk, looking out my own window and enjoying the summer heat and lush green trees.

I found that happiness does not have to depend on any external situations. It comes from the internal situations we create in your own minds. Certain events are known to bring us happiness, like having a nice family vacation somewhere beautiful or going to the beach. I wondered, if something happened and affected these external situations, would I still be happy? Ali showed me that just creating a vision in my head of feeling happy and being satisfied could overpower any situation that ordinarily would make me feel otherwise.

I soon discovered I could also apply this concept to other emotions. I remembered weeks when I was overloaded with work during my freshman year of high school. By just believing and repeating to myself that I was stressed, I made it much easier to be really stressed.

If we choose to be unsatisfied with life we can easily make our life unnecessarily miserable, even if we have everything we ever wanted.

After I discovered this on our trip to Italy, I found myself striving to feel happy, regardless of the myriad things I could potentially complain or be grumpy about. I remember returning from vacation and choosing to accept the boring and humid summer days, because I realized that I am responsible for my own happiness — which should not be dependent on any plans or objects.

My encounter with Ali made me look at life with a different perspective. I found that happiness triggered by a certain event, such as visiting a beautiful country, felt different than general, everyday happiness. The former gives a temporary feeling of pleasure and satisfaction, which is completely dependent on life’s events.

I believe that true happiness isn’t going to Italy or meeting up with friends, which may bring you temporary pleasure, but a feeling that isn’t dependent on your life situation. It comes with gratitude and acceptance, and by choosing to be happy. Our society is known to be pleasure seeking and sometimes materialistic. It’s not easy to get out of that rut and learn to appreciate the smallest of things, but Ali led me to my steps toward creating a permanent feeling of contentment.

As they say, life is like a roller coaster — it has its ups and downs—but you can choose to scream or enjoy the ride.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Vanita Sharma learns about inner happiness by observing a Kenyan curio seller in Italy.

Creating an Internal Vacation

Grace Luckett

My idea of happiness was irreversibly changed at the place where many revelatory life experiences occur: summer camp.

When I first arrived at camp, I was nervous but quickly made many friends, all of whom were from different areas of the country and led very different lives. As the weeks went on I became closer with a few of the girls. Most of them were in my bunk, meaning I ate meals with them at least three times a day.

One girl rarely ate the meals provided, opting instead for small bowls of fruit or even just a glass of water. I found this odd as I love to eat. My confusion came to a head on the ceremonial and highly anticipated Doughnut Friday, a day whose name is fairly self-explanatory. As I made my way to the table with three doughnuts tenuously grasped in my hands, I noticed that the girl hadn’t a single thing to eat. I let my questioning nature and persistent confusion get the better of me and asked her about her apparent distaste for the cafeteria food. She responded that she didn’t like to eat at all, that food disgusted her and made her feel vaguely sick. I held out a doughnut, earnestly explaining to her that doughnuts were among my favorite foods; that they made me happy and maybe they could make her happy as well. She pushed my offering away saying she’d tried doughnuts and knew that they made her feel as sick as every other food.

I turned away, sad and a little confused. I understood the basic concept of someone not sharing my interests and preferences, but to be disgusted by something that brought me such joy? I was confounded.

I later learned that the girl was suffering from an eating disorder and had a physical and mental aversion to food.

This experience was my first encounter with such a striking difference in the meaning of happiness. In learning about the girl’s illness, I began to question the concept of happiness and how it differs for each of us. I had always thought that food was something that made every person universally happy, but I realized that there was no way that anything could be universal.There is always someone differentiated by their mental, physical, or emotional background and health, who would be unable or unwilling to feel the same as me. This doesn’t make anyone’s emotions less valid, it just exemplifies the way in which people are unique. Because happiness is specific to each individual person, when someone feels happy it may bring them back to a different experience that made them feel the same way, leading them down a road detailing their own joy.

There cannot be one thing that makes every single person on earth happy. Think of this as a mathematical algorithm, in which every one of the seven billion people currently in existence somehow classified and entered a list of the things that make them happy. The statistical probability of every person having at least one aspect in common is practically zero.

"There cannot be one thing that makes every single person on earth happy."

Each thing that makes me feel happy has a counter in at least one person. The happiness I feel when I see fireworks is the opposite emotion of a person with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), who may feel definitively unhappy while having the exact same experience. Because of the unique lives we lead, it is near to impossible to find one feeling or experience that would make everyone universally happy.

Because of this are we all truly adrift and separate in terms of our experience of happiness? Or, despite the fact that different things are catalysts for our happiness, do we all share the same actual emotion when we feel it?

For my father, happiness can be described as a sense of calm, as though he is afloat in a sea, unconcerned with any stressful activities. To me, happiness feels like bubbles rising from my chest to every inch of my body, like the sheer force of my giddiness could carry me an inch or two above the earth. I could use any of the many more metaphors or similes to describe this feeling, but I don’t know if any of them can actually encapsulate the emotion.

I often wonder if everyone else feels as I do when I’m happy, regardless of the cause or the description — if the same emotion can be translated differently through language, culture, and experience. Is the way I feel when I listen to an uplifting song the way someone else feels when they look at their favorite piece of art? I would like to hope that the answer is yes; that regardless of any identity or experience, everyone shares the same raw emotion. We might describe or express it differently, but deep down it is really the same basic concept of elation.

I can’t express this sentiment with certainty because I can’t enter the minds of every person and see if they all feel happiness the way I do. We can show where happiness is processed in the brain; but I don’t think we can ever actually know if happiness feels the same way to all of us.

Still, it is my opinion and my hope that we are all unified by a universal emotion, that we are all secretly connected by one all-encompassing experience. So, to answer the question: yes, happiness has a different meaning to each of us, filtered and defined through the course of each of our lives, but the raw emotion is a unifying aspect of human life. I recognize that the belief we all share this binding feeling is idealistic, possibly improbable. But it is a beautiful thought. Even if it can never be fully proven, it is something I think we should all aspire to believe. We all exist in such different circumstances, separated by race, class, gender. Isn’t it a beautiful concept, that if we were to peel back the layers of our humanity, we would find that we all share such a basic feeling with each other? That we are all, at our core, connected?

In a KidSpirit Big Question response, teen writer Grace Luckett describes the ways that feelings of happiness can connect us.

Does Happiness Have a Different Meaning to Each of Us?

Gertie-Pearl Zwick-Schachter

I roll onto my side,
the grass damp and prickly on my bare legs.
A speckled monarch flits across a hydrangea-leaf sky.
The breeze tousles the rosebushes, sighs,
then rests.

Nature’s beauty draws me in, but my own
drowsiness, like the reel of a fishing rod,
pulls me back.

I let the blades pierce my neck, my arms
openly welcoming the chilling sensation
while a tree teases me with its shade, covering
me, then dancing off.

Peace envelops me like the husk of a summer
tomatillo, like the soft petal
of a sleepy tulip.

In a KidSpirit Poem, teen writer Gertie-Pearl Zwick-Schachter evokes a blissful summer nap in the grass. 

A Moment

Zaki Andoh

Sorrow
Whispers
In your ear
Thoughts
Of defeat —
You’re a failure!

She may
Be relieving
At the time
But don’t
Give in
To Sorrow.

She spins
Her webs of sadness,
Wrapping around
Your heart
Her eight
Thin legs,
Crawling through your soul.

She feeds
On your despair,
Poisoning your mind.
A depression in
Your life,
She wrecks you.

Killing the love
In your heart,
Sorrow sneaks up
Behind you,
Dangling
On her gossamer
Filament
Of tears.

She waits
Until you’re at your weakest,
Pumping
Depression
Into your
Heart.
She breaks you
Beyond repair.
It all starts with
A little trip.

Don’t give in
To sorrow’s pull,
Don’t fall into
Her cobwebs,
Don’t believe
Her pity.
Never follow Sorrow.

She draws
You in
With her string,
Luring you in
With tears.
Do not
Hold
Your Sorrow in,
But do not enter
Her labyrinth.
For once you’re in
Her maze of despair,
There’s no coming back.

In a KidSpirit Poem, teen writer Zaki Andoh describes sorrow as a spider — don't fall into her web.

Ode to Sorrow

Maya Mesh

I cannot find my happiness?
I believe I misplaced it.
I’m sure I am sure, but then again I don’t know.

Well perhaps it’s in the trees
With the humming birds and the leaves.
Wait! I think I can see it,
Oh no, that was just a dream.

Supposedly it’s in music,
in the rhythmic sound of the drum,
In the thump, thump, thump of rain
Hitting the window of the car.

I believe, most of the time, that it’s in people,
But they are too busy looking for other things in themselves,
Like their seemingly endless imperfections.

Yes, that among other things possessing their minds.
Maybe I’m getting this whole happiness thing wrong?
Maybe it’s about what others do?

Yes, they probably stole my happiness.
But that doesn’t make sense either.
Why would do something so stupid like that?
Don’t they know only I can possess it?
I guess I forget that they are human.

Oh my! I think I found my happiness
Yes, I did, I was sitting on it.
Next time I’ll keep it securely locked in a box.
But then again, what if I lose the key?

In a KidSpirit Poem, teen writer Maya Mesh wonders where her happiness has gone. She may have been sitting on it.

Tales of the Indecisive

Does happiness have a different meaning for each of us? How do we know when we’re truly happy? KidSpirit contributors take on these questions and more in this issue on the roots and fruits of well-being.

Happiness: Abstract Yet So Real

Like what you're reading?