On being happy

I just read Dr. Bitch's announcement about her taking a leave-without-pay in LA where her family will be able to live on her husband's salary, and she can get some writing done. Given that I'm essentially doing the same thing (albeit NOT in LA) why am I feeling jealous? (I do, at the same time, feel genuinely happy for her, and I hope she writes some kick-ass articles.) Obviously, I'm jealous because I wish I were the kind of person who could productively embrace this time off rather than get lost in it.

My anonymous commenter asks what makes me happy, which is a question that typically stops me in my tracks. Were I to be absolutely honest, I'd have to say something quite vague, like: I'm happiest when I'm most free of inhibition, when I'm immersed in what I'm doing, when I feel connected with others without losing my sense of self. And rather than "happy," I'd call it feeling alive, which can coexist with sadness, anger, or any emotion really.

This feeling, I realize, depends on situations in which I'm interacting with others who are also "alive": intense and focused conversations; teaching moments when my students are inspired by and inspiring one another; playing chamber music (OK, that's my previous career) with people who are completely focused on and responsive to one another; playing with my daughter.

Writing, interestingly, doesn't really come up on that list. I think that's because writing, at least academic writing, is so solitary; feedback comes so infrequently. I don't feel, except at rare moments, the "aliveness" that makes those interactive situations so wonderful for me.

But I do, clearly, value writing. What writing allows, that teaching, conversation, playing don't, is a time and space for reflection; a chance to articulate your thoughts with precision, to more carefully acknowledge their relationship to others' thoughts and ideas, and to consider their multiple layers of meaning and relevance. And given the fact that I'm usually inhibited around others, and conversation often leaves me feeling frustrated rather than inspired, writing allows me to express myself, and at least opens the door to interaction.

One reason I left music performance for academia is that I craved a space for reflection, which was woefully absent from the classical music world as I knew it. I guess it's obvious that my problem now is I have too much space for reflection, and not enough (hardly any) intense interactions that might give me something tangible to reflect on.