The Ultimate Guide To Happiness

Max the know better says:

I could be wrong about pleasure and luxury, although happiness nowadays is synonymous with these, it would be nice if I took a luxury flight to New York and tried a New York hotdog and “The New York Times”, yes, I’ve heard of it, although around Australia it’s mostly on the internet. As for those in Vegas, they must have a lot of airconditioning. It’s just a desert with a lot of trees planted in it, and some structures for gambling and used as dwellings, and hotels. It’s obvious I wouldn’t feel at home in a strange town, as highly unfamiliar things are scary. But the most dopamine hits I get from watching horror movies, that’s pleasure I suppose, but it will make you hungry for cheap thrills. I’m certainly not going to be happy stuck in a funless universe with no relief and if I do get relief from having no fun, which is miraculous, I would be happy only because I’m not a fun-obsessed, anxious guy trying to fit everything in my amusement, I get plenty of amusement from a horror film, I have to make my own fun for myself, because nobody’s giving any fun to me, and nobody cares. But supposing I’m a perfectionist I would by all means travel on summer holiday with a pina colada and eating tuna meals in Victor Harbour. I’m not an ascetic person, the happiness tailored to me is more travel, and a “vacation”, ironic since what is really meant is travelling to exotic places, when I prefer holidaying in my house with cold tea and my holiday clothes, I don’t have to go anywhere, although cruising on ship for an hour I’d very much would like to eat cheesecake, or some fancy meal, paid for onboard. But to be even happier, I’m satisfied with my local town, eating fish fingers and vegetables and a Frosty Fruits ice confection for dessert, even on a cold and stormy winter’s day. I guess I’m telling stories of my breathing and sitting in life, but it leads to my real existence: there is no travel, and there’s no cruise on any one ship, but a cruise on a boat called the Popeye, in the river, and there’s no fancy food, luxury or pleasure, except maybe some fine chocolate, which is only eaten occasionally, and some caviare on a grain cracker, and the “luxury” of prebought canned soup with later-on bought wholemeal bread rolls, soup I had to at the time buy more cans of, which I’ll do now when I finish this comment. It all boils down to simplicity rather than luxury, pleasure, or thrills, happy in a modest way.