The Controversy Surrounding Happiness

Swatting at cherry blossoms, camelia bushes and random insects with a stick, Fiona trudged along Merriweather Street - still seething at the so-called "intervention" in the guidance office that the rash Mr. Girello had so vainly attempted, with his smarmy, obsessive need to "change the course of destiny" for students unlucky enough to be sent his way. There was much to resent as far as his method was concerned: his love of numbers and hard data, his need for "track records" and "proven statistics" as a measure of his own aptitude as a cartographer of human productivity,  his harsh manner of badgering people off of their "wrong course" onto his "proper path" - transporting them, like rabbits in some ill-conceived, tortuous lab experiment, from their familiar grassy knoll into a foreboding, dank, dark, sterile, steely, indoor environment; how she disdained his middlebrow conception of the "good life for all." From a distance, she saw her calm, serene, empath/friend, Marci,  sitting cross-legged on her front lawn, with eyes closed and chestnut hair pulled back into braids, half-smiling and somehow taking in all of the surrounding universe, especially the school bus dropping off grade-school kids a half-mile away, anticipating their scampering past, slightly in advance of Fiona's arrival. The children marched by as expected at 3: 17 p.m. And then came Fiona with her dark cloak green sweater, ruby-red shoes and autumn-inspired baseball cap. Almost hyperventilating, she found herself walking swiftly up the driveway to the place where Marci sat meditating, glaring down at her intently without speaking until Marci said "Let me guess..." and Fiona said "Walk with me...I need to vent concerning that stupid manbeast... " and so the two began their daily ritualistic foray (repeated on alternating days) in search of miniscule edible items of sacred importance, including, but not limited to, various flavors of gourmet gelato and/or coffee. Without provocation, Fiona went on about this stupid man, this wretched meddler...this macho poseur with the short-cropped hair and the form-fitting Armani sweaters, how unforgivable it was of him to accuse, to intimidate, to harass, with his arrogant, unremitting tone - barely allowing for replies - shutting down any hint of real conversation, revealing with every bromide his condescension toward the impaired, misguided younger generation. What was it that he said that upset you so much? I mean...usually...you can just tune people out... Marci just had to find out. Oh well - with him - everything is a travesty - Haven't you gotten trapped in his little office - ever - with the door left open so other people can listen in on the conversation? He was - just - atrocious - especially what he said about happiness and what all people need to do as part of some recipe for happiness. It was so wrong...I could even begin to explain it.  - And were you able to even give your opinion? - Oh I gave him my opinion. I always give my opinion. I wanted to say 'Look Freak!' but I held my tongue. I said: isn't it obvious that there cannot be a single life-script or formula for success that everyone has to follow...I said happiness takes an infinite number of forms...and who are you to say that there is only one "responsible path" to follow. I hate that term!  And he kept going on about the "rules" and "parameters" that limit and confine and hem us in - as if we were all chickens in a coop! I lost it at one point. I said: I'm not interested in your logic. I don't care about what other people do...and where they go to school... what kind of car they drive...what they wear... what souvenirs they collect ... how they recreate...what their perfect diet is... what they hope to accomplish or not accomplish...how they define misery and failure. It has nothing to do with me...I don't follow other people's rules! And that really annoyed him. And he came back with What are you - some kind of Anarchist? And I said. I don't follow other people's rules. There are no rules to follow (except the unwritten ones that no one ever mentions because they're too self-evident). But for some reason - Marci  - usually so sympathetic - was not quite satisfied - could not leave it as is - without excavating an ounce of plausibility within Mr. Girello's generally flawed and blusterous argument. She just had to play Devil's advocate...But don't you think, she said, that some people are like... just kind of lost... and they DO need advice...a certain kind of advice...to steer them off of an extreme self-destructive path? You know the people I mean...just aimless, floundering...craving direction... Yes, yes. yes! came the reply Fiona was more than a little annoyed. You think Mr. Girello and his ilk is going to offer real help - useful advice - to these poor, unfortunate dregs that the high school spews out every year. Marci  - you can't be serious. Marci spied the gelato shop two blocks off. It's just that when you say that there aren't any rules to follow.... - Except for the unwritten ones - please don't misquote me - Okay except for the basics that everyone understands - but to say that we don't have things in common - like wanting to avoid needless suffering --- well, it just makes me wonder ...because these poor unfortunates that we keep referring to - I mean - they sort of do need structure - I mean guidance - to help them avoid the worst possible scenarios - and yes - they want people to tell them what to do (or what not to do rather) - They appreciate that - if not from their local guidance counselor then from someone else...