The Happiness Curve

We ain’t real into mathematics over here at the Dirty House. Nor do we believe in ghosts. I will say, however, that we were pleased to learn BigFoot made it through the pandemic and seems to be spending most of his time just south of Asheville, North Carolina, eating tacos from White Duck (which I can’t blame the fella/feller for, they make a dang good carne asada).

When we first heard about the Happiness Curve, we thought, “Give me a break. We don’t believe in conspiracy stuff…” Then we thought, “You know? Life does seem a little like a sour batch of jambalaya at the moment.”

Yep. Thats us. Swinging right dead into what seems to be the next decade of not-so-happy, and it makes sense. Life has decided to start fighting back.

It’s the age where realization seems to set in, and we may not be morphing into the ideal version of what our younger self convinced us we were destined to be. Maybe we thought we would be richer or healthier. Or perhaps more energetic, maybe famous, or better looking. Maybe the job or career isn’t what we thought it would be. Debt is all over the place. And life’s thrown some challenges at us by now, making the good chunk of life ahead seem all the more daunting.

I know everyone’s anxiously waiting for my C+ philosophy on this notion, but it ain’t coming. As valuable and sought after as my wisdom is, once I dig through all the algorithmic complexities storied in the deepest trenches of the ole noggin’, I find myself debating the same ole question… what would our dogs think about this curve? Well, after many sleepless nights, I found the answer...

They don’t think about it at all. Now, think about that.