Pondering Happiness as a Need

       Why am I so excited about my tiny coloring book? I don't know. And, quite frankly, I don't care to know, because if I just avoid the question I can avoid the fact that it may be a little weird and childish to enjoy a coloring book so flipping much-EVEN THOUGH IT IS DESIGNED AND MARKETED FOR ADULTS.

       I think it's probably because it is small, efficient, and for all intents and purposes, perfect. My pocket sized coloring book provides hours of the same simple task, resulting in a multitude of beautiful results. It's easy, and fun, and cute, and colorful, and I will argue, also, that it helps me listen better in class. However, the real reason I love it, is because it's stress free and it's fun, two emotional experiences not felt nearly as often as they should among humans.

       I find it strange that I could find such immense happiness (no exaggeration) in a 4x6 in coloring book, that cost eight dollars, yet, some people need giant houses, expensive cars, and lavish parties to get at the same feeling. Now, I don't think I'm superior to anyone because I can find happiness in a coloring book (it's really more embarrassing than it is impressive), but it does make me curious. What kind of shift are we seeing in the acquisition of “happiness” among our population today? Is it even a shift at all?

       Would a fancy car make me any happier than my tiny coloring book? And, if I'm perfectly satisfied with an eight dollar coloring book, what is event he purpose of pursing that fancy car purely for the purpose of “happiness”? In life, there are wants and there are needs, and the line between the two is becoming blurred as people find themselves viewing happiness as a need. That need has evolved over the years, and I am both curious and afraid to see how it will evolve further in the years to come.

Adventures in Journalism and Giving a Damn

       March 6^th, 8:00 AM Friday morning: The day began rather awkwardly. I couldn't find the coffee house where I was supposed to meet my “mentor”. When I found it, I couldn't find a place to park. When I found a place to park, I had to fumble around in my glove compartment to find enough nickels and dimes to pay for said parking, which, was over a block away from said coffee house. Later, once arrived at said coffee house and seated at the table of adults, of whom I was very aware were superior to me, I reached for a cup of coffee that, unfortunately enough for my incredibly nervous self, actually belonged to the woman sitting next to me. Also, I accidentally started talking at the same time as someone else. I thought I was doomed, yet, that Friday, March 6^th, turned out to be one of the coolest days, like, ever.

       That Friday, I had a job shadow of sorts, with an unconventional, conversation hosting, startup enthusiast and journalist named Sarah, who writes for a blog that I'm starting to write for. I asked if I could “shadow” her, simply so I could figure out how the hell to be a “journalist”.

       Up until last week, I thought I would never identify as a journalist, but now, I see that in some way, everyone is a journalist. What really struck me from that day, was that real, quality journalism, is about genuinely caring about the people and stories you are covering. I think everyone has the ability to do that.

       The writing part of it though, is what I thought I wouldn't like. I always saw journalistic writing as rigid and dull. As a creative writer, I saw journalism as a cage. But I'm a bit like a drug addict when it comes to writing: I take it any way I can get it. Writing for this journalistic blog was, initially, a way to get words out in the world in a new and challenging way, but now, I can honestly saw I love it.

       That Friday, I learned that journalism is not about telling facts. It is not about reporting the news. It is not about rigid interviews with the school board. Journalism is about taking an experience, a person, a moment, a conversation, and reassembling it into a clear, concise article, that translates what you saw or heard or felt into and article, so that others can see and hear and feel, and be brought together by that story. That's why genuinely caring about a story is what makes it brilliant.

       So yes, I was a bit awkward. I didn't know how to be a journalist, and I wasn't even sure I could be one, but I learned something valuable: caring equals quality. In everything you do, giving a shit sure makes a difference. Whether it's in your relationships, your school work, or your job, caring about what you're doing impacts the quality of your project, and makes the effort you put in seem more valuable.

The photo and the hilarious story behind it that has almost nothing to do with this post.