Ask a Genie: Can You Wish for Happiness?

The Daily Ostrich welcomes its new, if familiar, advice columnist.

Event notice: If you’re in the Portland area this Tuesday, your tycoon and the Mrs. will be singing with a group of eight delightful musicians, in the choral ensemble we call Fifth Sunday. We’ll sing a few Christmas standards, a bit of ancient polyphony, and one or two broody modern pieces full of yummy tone clusters. The price is right, in any case.

7:30 pm, Tuesday, December 5
St. Ignatius Catholic Church, 3400 SE 43rd Ave, Portland
Free Admission (donations of packaged food welcome)

Or hear us Monday, December 18 at the Grotto Festival of Lights. 6:00 pm.

With that, I’m exceedingly pleased to introduce our advice columnist, shamelessly poached from the Sunday Casual-Observer, as he makes his Daily Ostrich debut.

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Dear Genie,
I was in an Uber the other day, looking out the window, and I saw this billboard—it was for a shoe company, but that doesn’t matter. The sign said, “Do What Makes You Happy.” I thought about that, and I started crying, there in the car. I made the driver let me off at the corner, even though we were still a mile from the bar. The thing is, I don’t know what makes me happy. And it’s worse than that. I always thought I’d be happy if I got my shit together, but now I’m wondering—what if I get my shit together and I’m still not happy. Do I know how to be happy?

What makes a person happy, and how do I get there from here?

Signed, No Map to Happiness

Dear Hapless Mapless,
You’d be amazed at the number of people who make their wishes without regard to their happiness. All the time, I’m having to steer them with leading questions:

“So it makes you cringe, when people look at you? And you’re sure it’s fame you’re craving?”

“Will you like living in the tropics? You don’t mind mosquitoes, do you?”

Now, No Map, when you talk about getting your shit together, do you mean a pile of money and a sports car, or do you mean your basic needs? I met a young man who was poor, always worried about his rent, but his wish was for an Adriatic cruise with his girlfriend. I said, “Sounds good, and perhaps few Euros, while you’re at it?”

He told me, “Money can’t buy happiness,” serious as a monk.

I said, “Try a little.”

He told me later that the cruise was nice, but the cash was heavenly.

On the other hand, when a person with money wants more, I ask them what they want to do with it. If they need ten million to start a winery, and they want to run a winery, then bing boom bop, the money makes them happier. But usually the money’s just a knee-jerk wish, and I guide them toward the “big three” ingredients for happiness: pizza, drugs, and sex.

That’s a joke (kind of).

There’s an uncomfortable truth I call the “Happiness Conundrum.” Happy people grow even happier after their wishes, while unhappy people get a momentary boost, and then go back to unhappiness. Isn’t that unfair? (I’ve always thought it’s unfair.) In part, it’s because satisfied people make kinder wishes. If I had one guideline for wishing, it would be this: Imagine what you’d wish for, if you already had what you want. Wish for that, plus a few bucks.

If it seems gloomy, dear No Map, to hear that unhappy people tend to stay that way, fear not. There are reliable escape routes. The best one, always, is meaningful friendship. One or two good friends can work a miracle.

But Genie, the readers will say, you told us it’s impossible to wish for friendship—friendship has to be given. And I say, very good! Excellent listening! But here’s the crazy thing: I can’t grant your wish for a friend, but I can grant your wish to be a friend. When you wish to be a good friend, you’re bound to the task of becoming one. By the time you’re halfway there, you’ll have at least a few volunteers. (Unless you live in Antarctica. Then we’ll need a future friend and a C-130 Hercules.)

But therein lies the rub. It’s hard to become a good friend, especially when you don’t have a potion to force you through the process. You’ll need to ferret out the habits in yourself that get in the way of friendship, and nibble away at those habits. And that requires the belief that you’re adaptable. Do you insist you’re cast in concrete, hardened and unchangeable? Or are you a squishy person-in-progress?

If you dare to believe you’re adaptable, you can start making progress on a few of your wishes, and you’ll gravitate toward happiness. Slowly, your shit will come together. In the meantime, there’s plenty of pizza.