As thousands of self-help websites will tell you, Abraham Lincoln once said “Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”
That’s rich, if true, coming from a man known for chronic melancholy.
The words fail in situations so dark, so dire that they’re beyond human capacity to summon happiness through force of will.
Still, Lincoln’s words have merit. I’ve thought of them often this week related to the coronavirus – and to these little essays. I’ve concluded I owe y’all an apology.
The essays spring from events in my daily life and, just as often, from thoughts in an over-active noggin. With the coronavirus, thoughts too often become turbulent, like mental tsunamis or Category 5 hurricanes.
The result? Essays written in anger. Weighted with sadness. Preachy with disdain. Marked, even, by melancholy.
Not all, certainly. Some essays expressed hope or humor or defiance. But too many reflected the churning eddies of a pandemic-pocked mind.
I’m sorry.
So, an admonition, inspired by a man who dwelt in the deepest, darkest shafts of sadness.
Cheer up, Gauger.
