Impossible Happiness

Freud and Curtis present a rather bleak outlook on human happiness. The way I interpret their works, it seems as though neither one of them believes that human beings can be truly happy. We can have basic desires satiated, but those desires have been manufactured by marketers like Bernays, people who exploit the human mind for profit. This is insulting on many levels. We hear, in Curtis' film, about how Bernays considered everybody "stupid": the masses, his workers, sometimes even his family. This only solidifies the notion that being a part of a consumerist society means we've been duped. Duped into believing that we're actually happy with spending all of our money on things we don't need to impress people we don't really like.
Of course, when analyzed this way, it seems very silly. Yet we still participate in this kind of "wants-over-needs" society. Why? Was Bernays right? I don't think so. He was a marketing genius who managed to tap into the subconscious levels of the human mind: the desire to look the best, the most 'hip', the most cultured. He then linked happiness to these desires. It was brilliant! But bleak, for us. After watchin Curtis' film, it really probed me to think about how happy I really am with the materials I buy. Of course, it feels nice to go out and participate in some retail therapy once in a while, but upon further reflection, am I really happy afterwards? I am lesser off financially, that's for sure. One comes to the conclusion that it really is impossible to be happy nowadays, in a consumerist sense, since almost as soon as we buy something that we enjoy, it becomes obsolete, and we are pressured into buying the bigger, better, newer version. And yet, though this is acknowledged by many, it doesn't change much. That's how brainwashed we have become by marketing. The message I gathered from Happiness Machines is that we are fooling ourselves. Big houses and big cars mean nothing, if you think about it. It's a hard feeling to explain, but it really makes you evaluate how you live.
I disagree with Curtis. Of course, he is right in insinuating that we can't be happy just from buying things. Buying provides a "quick fix" for the blues, but not actual happiness. In order to be happy, appreciate the small things. Go for a walk when the sun's out and there's a nice breeze: that's happiness. Hold your lover's hand, watch a childhood movie, read a book with hot chocolate on a rainy day. That's happiness. Buying things isn't necessary.
The documentary presents the dark side of marketing, the side that dupes the masses and the collective consciousness of us all. Curtis focuses on how these feelings of happiness have been manufactured, and it makes it seem as though he doesn't believe in true human happiness. But it does exist. You just have to look for it in the right places.

To Walk From Omelas, To Stay In Omelas?

When I was first asked this question my immediate instinctual answer was "yes, of course I would walk away from Omelas." That answer came without much thought into the matter, because, of course, being brought up in the society I'm in now has taught me to cringe at the very thought of child abuse and unnecessary suffering; however, upon further reflection, I don't think it's as easy an answer as it first seemed.
First, I must take into account that nobody in Omelas feels guilt. No guilt at all. So, then, what would be my motivation to leave? When I answered 'yes' part of the reason was because I felt as though I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing that my happiness comes at a very high price...but Le Guin makes it clear that nobody in Omelas has such feelings.
Second, I must take into account that walking away will not solve the problem. I would still be allowing the problem to live on in Omelas, I would still be 'turning the other cheek,' and the only way to actually solve the problem would mean the destruction of Omelas and the citizens' happiness. Would I be able to live with that? I'm sure that if I took the child away, negative emotions (namely, guilt) would quickly be introduced into the regularly happy city, and I would have to stomach that guilt for the rest of my days. Could I handle it?
Third, I must take into account the fact that the existence of this child has been known of and accepted as part of the culture for a long time. Depending on how old I was when the child was first imprisoned, s/he could possibly have been there for my entire life. If I had grown up with this knowledge, would I really be so eager and willing to take a stand against it? If it's accepted as 'the way of life' and has been for ages, would rebelling against the idea even cross my mind?
Essentially, the question that is being posed here is "is the happiness of one worth sacrificing for the happiness of many?" While deep in my heart I recoil against saying yes, I don't think I could say anything else. I wouldn't be able to destroy families and relationships to save one small, dirty child. I wouldn't be able to sacrifice my OWN livelihood and joy for this child. I'm going to be honest here and say that I'm not that altruistic. It breaks my heart, but I have to keep in mind that this heartbreak wouldn't exist in Omelas. There would be no guilt, and I, too, would eventually talk myself into believing that the child really is better off in it's squalor. So there's my answer, as horrible as it is and as ashamed as I am to say it, I would not walk away from Omelas. At least I'm honest, that's all I have to say.

First Day Nerves

As excited as I was to get started with school, I must admit that, while I was getting ready to enter my first class, a terrifying thought struck my mind: since I grew up in a tight community where the elementary, middle and high schools were all close to each other, it has been thirteen years since I have taken a seat in a classroom where EVERY face is a stranger. The thought almost disabled my 'confident girl walk' immediately. I fretted. My friend-making muscle had completely atrophied, and for about 30 seconds I felt lost and small, like I was in Kindergarten again watching my mother drive away from me. I glanced enviously at the people who were already making friends. How jealous I was to hear that they had gone to high school together, since all of my high school friends (that are attending SFU) take all of their classes at the Burnaby campus. I took a seat (front row, edge of the classroom) and prepared to learn.

I was shortly disappointed because it seems as though, no matter where you are or what school you're attending, the first day is always reserved for the boring administrative duties: here's what you're doing, here's what's expected of you, here's how you're being graded. Jump through the hoops, be different in a way that will still get you the best grades and a job that will support you. The same thing every year. Nonetheless, I listened attentively, all the time reminded that I didn't have any friends around me to distract me even if I wanted to be distracted.

As the class was dismissed (tutorial thankfully cancelled) I took my time packing up and wandered into the hallways, lost in my thoughts. My first day hadn't been a complete failure, but it was a harsh reminder that transitioning from high school to university wasn't going to be easy. But what the heck, I'm Robyn Vondrasek, and I can do anything. I am superwoman, after all.

Stay tuned for entries cataloguing my Beedie FROSH experience!