It was a clever formulation. He did not promise happiness but merely gave us permission to find it. Which makes me wonder how one could chase something so ephemeral because nobody has ever quite explained what happiness looks like, you see?
As children, we had a much better understanding of the emotion. It was something we experienced when we were gifted a cricket bat, a plate of mangoes, an unexpected holiday from school or were allowed to watch television after bedtime. It was all refreshingly straightforward.
When we grew up, it came in the form of a promotion, a larger house, a better car, children doing well, money in the bank, decent health and a good night’s sleep. The irony was that we spent half our lives acquiring things that were supposed to make us happy and the other half wondering why they did not.
However, after moving to Portugal and making it my home, I have started looking at happiness somewhat differently because this country seems to possess a national secret that the rest of us are still trying to figure out.
Here, people sit outside cafés and talk. They have lunch without checking the time every seven minutes and coffee is not a beverage to be consumed while answering emails. It is instead an event that can take an entire afternoon. Meals can extend into several hours and a neighbour can stop for a conversation without rushing for an appointment with a productivity coach.
The ancient Greeks called happiness eudaimonia. In other words, achieving the highest human good in a life that flourishes, rather than just a fleeting feeling of joy. The Stoics told us to concentrate on what we can control, and Buddhism warned us about attachment.
Modern psychologists talk about relationships, purpose, gratitude and meaning, but maybe happiness is not a destination at all; maybe it is more like the Portuguese sunshine which cannot be ordered, scheduled or demanded. One can only hope to be lucky enough to be outdoors when it appears and then bask in its glory.
So, perhaps the sensible approach is not to hunt relentlessly for it, but to create an environment in which it has a reasonable chance of finding us. We can spend time with people who make us laugh, take care of our health, do work that is meaningful, learn a new language, eat slowly, walk without a destination, call an old friend and sit in a café and watch the world go by. Also, occasionally, do absolutely nothing without feeling guilty about it. This kind of environment.
Then we might discover that happiness is not something we achieve, but it is something we experience. Like the morning coffee which tastes unusually good, or the sunlight that comes through the window, or someone we love laughs. Which means that Jefferson’s greatest gift to us is not a guarantee of happiness, but the development of an empathetic perception to recognise it when it appears in front of us.
“What makes you happy?” I ask my husband this morning.
“Are you happy?” he counters.
“Are you?” he repeats.
“Of course I am happy,” I say.
“That makes me happy,” he announces.
Read Nickunj Malik’s last month’s article: The naughty forty