the pursuit of happy(i?)ness.

“There is no 'y' in happiness. It's supposed to be an 'I'.”

That's what Will Smith's character, Chris Gardner tells the Asian janitor, advising him in his repainting job of a day care center's front artwork.

“How did President Jefferson know to put the 'pursuit' of happiness in there?” Gardner muses while looking for change in his pockets.

These things struck me. There is no why in happiness, just I. I'm entitled to happiness, and it doesn't matter why. Should I have to ask why? Is happiness earned? Things I hadn't really thought of before.

The movie chronicles Chris Gardner, a real person about whom this account is created. The man scrapes the bottom of hell seeking a better future for himself and his son, betting nothing to gain anything. The movie was incredibly touching, that or I'm getting soft in my lengthy 23 years of life. Several scenes brought me to the blurred edge of tears, and it seems that Will Smith has found his acting chops, displaying maturity and a keen lack of “ruining it with canned one liners.” That is to say that, in this movie, the black man does not say, “that is whack.”

Something about the movie's underlying philosophy of “happiness, y?” has sort of splintered its way into my conscious. Couple that with the fact that Tom still resides, daily, in my thoughts, and I question “I”. What guarantee do I have that I will be happy? What right do I have to be happy? I don't. I have the right to pursue it, but mostly, as exemplified by Chris's son, contrasted by Chris's wife, happiness is an internal state. It's something that you live and exude, not something you seek or have. The son tells the father, after experiencing (and in the center of) these ordeals, “you're a good poppa.” Just before the trials start, the son, when asked, responds with, “yes, I'm happy.” Even during the trials, faced with his father's growing depression over the dark turn of his life, he exhibits many moments of childhood happiness. Chris's wife, meanwhile, seems only able to focus on her personal discomfort, and her own inability to happy, ignoring and belittling her husband's effort for a better life.

In what might be my favorite scene of the movie, Chris is playing basketball with his son. His son says he's good enough for the pro's. Chris picks up the ball, throws it at the basket and misses and remarks that, “you'll excel at many things in life, just like me, but, unfortunately, you'll probably get my basketball ability, and I never did too well. So, I don't want you out here every day and every night playing this trying to get your hopes up.” The son is obviously dejected and outright pissed. While putting his ball away, Chris says to his son, “don't ever let someone, even me, tell you that you can't do something. If you have a dream, protect it, pursue it, with everything you've got.” In reflecting in my own time on this planet, I experienced several conversations with my own father. Not once did I ever see my dad nay say a personal dream of mine. Not once. He was always telling me that whatever it is I wanted to do, I could do it, even going so far as to once say, “fuck 'em” to people who might try to step on or prevent me from my goals.

Which leads me back to the “I.” He's right. My dad is right. Chris Gardner is right. If you have a dream, you are capable of achieving it, which means that it's not the Y that gets in the way. It's the I.

The I leads me to Tom. Tom is an educated man, as he and I have said. He was a male nurse, living with a woman for fifteen years, a woman he regarded to be his wife. They had a home, he was doing well, and then things went to hell for him. A fire, an arrest, other details he didn't divulge. The tears Tom cried that night downtown are the same tears that Chris cries in the subway bathroom.

Tom has not left my thoughts yet. There was something in our connection, something I need to revisit. Focus on the Y.