The notion of Happiness is a product of our inflated sense of perfection. It comes at a price.

Don’t be alarmed. This is merely part of the balance. Today you shall be wisely informed of this thing we call balance.

Balance, that beautiful word, that when discussed is often used in metric instances. The logic here is simple; if you are happy someone needs to be unhappy. If you are really happy then two people are unhappy. If you are content, then someone is merely depressed. Depression, not to be gawked at, is that feeling we get just before unhappiness. Medically speaking, it’s incurable. Literally speaking, our depression is dictated by our expectations. If, par example, I expect to be rich, three blondes on one arm, and a brunette on the right (for intellectual 'balance')but alas, I only have the same tried and tested woman that I've had for the past 3 years then I may well be 'depressed'. I may choose to quell this via the method of sexual release with another woman or merely by sinking into a spat of complaining and yearning. Either way both are likely to, ultimately, result in depression.

 

Balance is formed when one person is a positive and another a negative.

Take, I, for example. I've doted on this particular lady for a while now. Often taking moments out of my busy schedule (educating my expansive mind on this very subject of Happiness) to entertain her. You know, the occasional text message, internet based chat or message. However her intentions seem unclear. She seems content without me as her spouse. This makes me depressed. Thus I am only ailed when she takes time out of her busy schedule, roaming the earth in pursuit of her "place", to contact me. Hence I am left with a dilemma. A catch 22, if you will. She is content without me as her Romeo. I am depressed without her. This dilemma could well become an unhappy never-ending soap opera. I’m pretty intelligent therefore aware of this. So, logically speaking, the logical move would be to cut myself loose. Continually my ‘logical’ decision to do so is continually thwarted by her unintentional olive branch of hope - "Wanna catch a movie?", “Just imagine we were married”, "I'll cook for you...one day." The last line is always followed by an evil cackle. This will never happen. I know this, but still hope it will. She KNOWS this will never happen, but hopes for something more appeasing to herself. Like new shoes or something.

This, in essence, is balance.