Why is it that I write better poetry when I’m sad?
All those emotions that pull you down, adding weight to your shoulders, making your eyes swim and your heart drown, are they more powerful, more intense, than happiness? Is creativity merely a tool in the pursuit of happiness; something to put aside once the goal is reached? Or is happiness so abnormal that we don’t know how to write about it? Has happiness become boring in this war society we live in?
We live in a culture that praises violence over anything else. Our children play with fake weapons while the movies they watch stage murder and war. Superheroes are not so because of a kind and loving heart, but because of a higher capacity at violence, because they can smash their enemy harder. Forgiveness is for losers; it’s deemed the worst weakness to say “I’m sorry.”
What if we went back to simplicity? Why not be humble and gentle?
I want to be surprised by my sadness, not by my happiness. I want to have stories to share when I’m joyful, not when I’m depressed. I want happy to be the new normal. I want to use proactive language instead of war rhetoric; I’m not defending an opinion here, I’m proposing different ideas.
I want to read and write stories where characters are happy from beginning to end without thinking, “how boring, nothing happens.”
An example. The other day, I was feeling blue and I wrote this:
I am quite lonely. I gave my heart to someone in T—o last year. Since then, that someone moved to A—a and left my heart on the way. Now my heart is lost somewhere in North America, so if you find it you can have it. Please try not to break it.
That’s pretty sad, but I think quite beautiful as well. Let’s try to make happy and beautiful:
I am by myself. I offered my heart to someone in T—o last year. Since then, that someone moved to A—a and delivered my heart to the world. Now my heart is exploring North America, and if you find it you can have it. Please be kind with it.
Does that sound happier? Maybe a little.