Last year I read a fascinating book called My American Unhappiness. The main character, Zeke, navigates
an empty post-modern landscape as he gathers stories for his Inventory of American Unhappiness
Project. The Project amounts to
collecting responses to the question “Why are you unhappy?” Via email, live interview, or otherwise.
One of my favorite parts was the explanation of what Zeke
did when someone said: “What me? I’m not unhappy.” A short discussion or just a look
was usually all it took to get a response to the question. It reminds me of a favorite passage from
David Foster Wallace:
“The next suitable person you’re in light conversation with, you stop suddenly in the middle of the conversation and look at the person closely and say, “What’s wrong?” You say it in a concerned way. He’ll say, “What do you mean?” You say, “Something’s wrong. I can tell. What is it?” And he’ll look stunned and say, “How did you know?” He doesn’t realize something’s always wrong, with everybody. Often more than one thing. He doesn’t know everybody’s always going around all the time with something wrong and believing they’re exerting great willpower and control to keep other people, for whom they think nothing’s ever wrong, from seeing it.”
― David Foster Wallace, The Pale King
Below are some amazing (fictional) email responses to the
Inventory of American Unhappiness Project from the book. Even though its
fiction, they are so very poignant:
“The next suitable person you’re in light conversation with, you stop suddenly in the middle of the conversation and look at the person closely and say, “What’s wrong?” You say it in a concerned way. He’ll say, “What do you mean?” You say, “Something’s wrong. I can tell. What is it?” And he’ll look stunned and say, “How did you know?” He doesn’t realize something’s always wrong, with everybody. Often more than one thing. He doesn’t know everybody’s always going around all the time with something wrong and believing they’re exerting great willpower and control to keep other people, for whom they think nothing’s ever wrong, from seeing it.”
― David Foster Wallace, The Pale King
"Theodore M., 28
cable installer, Morris, IL:
Ideas. Ideas make me unhappy. I get so many of them. I'm going to make a
film about my great-uncle. I'm going to build a writing shed near the garage.
I'm going to send a letter every day for the next year. But I don't follow through on anything. And I
know this about myself, so it drives me crazy that I keep having these ideas. I
keep having ideas, but what am I doing this week. I'm re-watching The Wire on
DVD. Starting over, season one.
Alexandria W., 23,
waitress, Seattle, WA:
My boyfriend is a total dick.
Ron C., 24, waiter,
Seattle, WA:
My girlfriend is a total bitch.
Wanda P., 37, sales
associate, Cody, WY:
I guess when I see grownups dressed up for Halloween it sort
of makes me unhappy. Unless they're real sexy sorts of costumers, like a slutty
bee or a dirty cop or something. And I suppose its okay if they're with their
kids, or at some drunker party or whatever. But I'm thinking about a secretary
who dresses up as a witch, you know, standing there in the glare of an
insurance offices' fluorescent lights? Or a used-car salesman wearing devil
horns? Or a postal clerk dressed up as a cowboy or whatever? I can't abide by
that. I can't think about it. Its about as sad as a guy who wears short-sleeve
T-shirts and what he describes as "wacky" neckties. There are things
adults must not do, you know?
Carrie, 33, legal
analyst, Normal, IL:
These binders that line the walls of my office. They hold
meeting minutes for every damn meeting from the last ten years; the paper
falling out of them is yellowing and often printed in a font and I don't think
it exists anymore. We're always in the process of getting ready for another
meeting and making another binder to put on the shelves No one looks at the
binders after the meetings are done, as far as I can tell, but we will never,
ever, get rid of them. On some very fundamental level I don't understand why we
make or keep the binders, and since it is my job to make the binders, this
makes me unhappy."
