Happy Happy Joy Joy
According to this article, authors, painter and sculptors are some of the happiest people. Bartenders, cashiers and waiters are among the least.
Clergy are happiest overall (no creative blocks, since the text is written for them?), while roofers are the least. Poor damn roofers.
The article cites the satisfaction of serving others as the source of a lot of that personal and professional happiness. It's certainly what gets me up in the morning. It never ceases to touch me that people find it worthwhile to part with their hard-earned cash for my offerings.
Used to seem to me, everybody needs to eat, but nobody *needs* a painting, tattoo, drawing, or a story. Now I'm not so sure. Art and stories, beauty and entertainment, all fill a need deeper than any can of pork and beans can touch.
It's just harder to put a finger on the needs those things fill. But there's no mistaking the charge of knowing you've touched another person's life.
I credit that feeling of service to others to my own happiness. And my happiness to my continuing and unnatural youth...
3 comments:
Hey, Steve. If authors are happy, then this guy who wrote the article has been smoking something. Just kidding, I think I am at my highest peak emotionally after writing for more than one or two nights in a row.
Well if I don't write or draw, I am one crangy depro biatch:0)
Have a good day:)
"continuing and unnatural youth?" Is there something you're not telling us, Steve? Is there a reason you've moved around quite a bit in your life? Does the Tiny Dynamo know that you are an ageless immortal? Or is she one too?
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