On Happiness

Pharrell, to my ears, does not sound particularly happy singing his song "Happy." It has me musing that the song dives deeper than it first seems.

Scroll down far enough through social media and one will come upon a picture of a name of a colour, coloured in a colour which is not the colour spelt by the word.

It could also be that the truth of the happy song appears via purposeful concentration, rather than fleeting, inattentive consumption.

Common late '90s wisdom suggests that sticking feathers up one's bum does not make one a chicken. Perhaps Pharrell is subtly challenging such pop wisdom from the previous millennium?

Dare I suggest he is indeed putting a feather up there? One at a time.

"It might seem crazy what I'm about to say" ... up goes a feather.

"Sunshine, she's here, you can take a break" ... another feather.

...

"Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof" ... a feather. In fact, a few feathers for that questionable example of lyrical poetry (the first line of the chorus, no less).

At this stage I would invest in some good-quality lube, if you haven't already. "Happiness" is not quite the emotion evoked when reflecting on a room without a roof, thoughts of

brokenness, incompleteness, inadequacy, uselessness

tend to bubble up instead. What good to anyone is a room without a roof?

Dare I suggest that this line is yet another clue that the song is more nuanced than it first appears.

"Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth" ... at least five more for that line. Keep 'em coming, force them up, make room with all your will and keep pushing. Nothing but the faith of the feather is required to really make sense of that non sequitur of a lyric.

Is happiness the truth? Then, if we follow the logic, sadness must be a lie. Perhaps not objectively true; but then, we are (at this point) not objectively a chicken. Furthermore, to become the chicken, happiness must be the one and only truth.

After all is said and done (and the bumhole is stretched well past its usual capacity), does one become the chicken? Or at least a flawless impersonation of a chicken? And in the end, is there any difference between being indistinguishable from a chicken and being an actual chicken?

Was Meat Loaf's reply a more accurate reflection of the essence of happiness?

Meat's reply to the woman is "let me sleep on it." One presumes here that Meat is being a bit of a dick: awkwardly and indirectly attempting to let the girl down gently, and at the same time not having the courage to be direct. These conclusions are easily reached in a culture of indirect connection through personal and cultural masks.

However, if we go against our better judgement and take Meat literally, a deeper meaning emerges. "To run away with you and make you my wife" should be deeply, thoughtfully deliberated. Big questions require time to ponder. Would the woman want Meat's consent in the heat of the flame burning bright, or would she prefer agreement after careful consideration by the subconscious?

"Being happy is not possible, but being happier is." -- from some podcast.

"A life not bored is a boring life." -- some other podcast

The Stoics believed in living a life striving for virtue. The evidence for this belief was plain to see by studying nature. By observing our primate cousins, who seem quite content in their natures to eat nits and chill for the most part, one can see that it is in human nature to be social, leading to the belief that happiness is nothing but full commitment to such virtue.

Is the path to happiness to stuff feathers up the bum like Mr Pharrell, or is it to embrace the inner honesty of the soul like the Stoics, the Meat and the monkey?

I do not claim to be wise, dear reader, but I suspect the truth is equally both and neither.