SIL - May / June 2020

A Note to Baby Boomers
In Pursuit of Happiness
Iran into a friend not long ago, and
I asked how she was doing.
I already knew.
More well-meaning than
smooth, I asked anyway. Terrible was
her first answer. Other words followed,
sad, sadder and saddest.
Time might help her, but I did
not. I offered instead a ‘hang in there’
as if she had misplaced her keys.
What actually is missing is her husband.
He had died a few weeks earlier.
Like was he, she is one of nicest
people I know. She is also among the
wealthiest. She could own the store
into which we bumped.
At no store, however, is true happiness
on the rack. Amazon Prime
cannot rush everything after all. This
chance encounter only reminded me
what most matters.
Must I need a reminder?
Studies find that older people
are happiest. Without diapers to
change or mortgages to pay off or
jerky bosses to tolerate, we seniors
do lead a simpler life. Simple suits us
like do early bird specials.
We retired from being busy,
right.
True, new retirees always get the
talk: Do not just hang in there. Act as if
the couch has bedbugs. Turn off Jerry
Springer – you know the plot. Volunteer.
Visit old friends and make new
ones. Get healthy or healthier. Check
out the world or at least the next over
county seat. Read. Learn how the cell
phone actually works.
Help Dale Moss clean out his garage.
Well, I do take pride at least in
gathering less dust than the kids’ senior
pictures. Occasionally on purpose,
I actually wear myself out.
Then I nap through a few old sitcoms.
Deaths make us unhappy, of
course. Rich people grieve like do
poor people, of course. We more often
stumble than glide through the
ups and downs of life, of course.
Life’s hassles tend to be harder to get
rid of than are stinkbugs.
So we may lose sleep or drink
too much. We may treat loved ones
8 • May/June 2020 • Southern Indiana Living
like garbage. We pile up regrets like
my mother piled up Green Stamps
and twisty ties.
Happiness is harder to master
than is the cable remote. I am happy
with family and friends. Yet, I also am
happy alone. I am happy as a tourist.
Yet, I also am happy to get back
home. I am happy to write.
Yet, I also am happy to press
send and forget the difference between
adverbs and adjectives.
I should be happier, as luck
would have it. My health is more
good than bad. So is my bank account.
My wife puts up with me, especially
when we are in different rooms. The
kids finally have given up on old dad
coming up with new puns.
My sports teams win more than
they lose and, as of this writing, I
have not had to scoop one shovelful
of snow.
Trouble is, red traffic lights made
me grumble more than green ones
make me smile. I notice when gas
prices go up more than when they go
down. I am among the least worthy
candidates for the Optimist Club.
Little wonder I fumbled through
my talk with the wiped-out widow.
Another friend is divorcing. Like
me, he was married forever. Then
his wife told him she has hated him
since, well, pretty much forever.
Hang in there?
Yet another friend wears out his
Medicare card with problems from
head to toe. He has lost much of his
mobility, a lot of his sight, his ability
to drive.
Hang in there?
Other friends need new knees or
hips or cope with migraine headaches
and achy backs. Others want to retire
but cannot afford it. Others have kids
or grandkids hooked on drugs.
Hang in there?
I enjoyed my column-writing
newspaper career. I happened upon
something I could do and I did it well.
At least that’s my story. Like were my
co-workers, I was evaluated annually.
My performance had to be
summed up in one word. Short of
winning a Pulitzer – still waiting – I
was not going to receive a check next
to ‘Exemplary.’ Or I’d be due a nice
raise.
Instead, I invariably was rated
At no store, however, is true happiness
on the rack. Amazon Prime cannot rush
everything after all. This chance encounter
only reminded me what most matters.
‘Improving.’ This continued long after
I well may have stopped improving.
Nonetheless, praise made me
happy.
I intend somehow to keep improving
even in retirement, no matter
if getting out of the car gets only
harder. I will still accept challenges,
invited or otherwise. I well may
someday be as sad as my friend is
now. Heartbreak tends to pick on
all of us. When sorrow has its day,
though, will it have its way? As I age,
I can get better at being happy. I can
remind myself to live until I die.
And I too can hang in there until
I can do better. •
After 25 years, Dale Moss
retired as Indiana columnist for
The Courier-Journal. He now
writes weekly for the News and
Tribune. Dale and his wife Jean
live in Jeffersonville in a house
that has been in his family
since the Civil War. Dale’s e-
mail is dale.moss@twc.com