The Lunch Report: Happy Meals for Sad People

Every year around this time life becomes decidedly sadder. The sunlight dissipates more quickly. Even though daylight hours have been dwindling steadily since June 21st, the longest and happiest day of the year, it seems much more pronounced when Daylight Saving’s Time rolls around (total misnomer—no one is saving daylight, they’re just moving those precious few hours to fill other hours of the day, most of which I sleep through anyway).

Clothes become heavier and more cumbersome, yet no matter how much the layers multiply, I am still cold. As I tuck my chin into my coat to avoid the wind and cold, my focus is shifted down towards the ground and I lose sight of the buildings and people around me. I take less interest in the tidiness of my "home" (ironic that we learn to call 750 square feet or fewer a home in NYC).

I don’t expect any of this elicits much sympathy; Seasonal Affective Disorder rarely does. After all, I could go out and buy a SAD lamp, move to a latitude that guarantees more sunlight or simply pull up my socks and stop being such a wimp. These are among the facile solutions that have historically been offered to those suffering from SAD (and some might even take issue with the participle "suffering" here).

How does one sympathize with SAD people when there are so many others who are far more entitled to sadness (don’t forget: the right to be sad is something we must earn in society). Even putting aside the big name tragedies such as death and divorce, there’s always someone who has more frayed relationships or finances and whose career path is even more dismal than your own. Look at the folks in Iceland for crying out loud. Not only do they have a fraction of the daylight we have this time of year (just try searching on weather.com for the time of sunrise in Reykjavik, you’ll find "N/A" on Dec. 20), but now they don’t even have Happy Meals anymore.*

I have a job; therefore, it’s self-absorbed and inconsiderate of me to even consider experiencing sadness—just take that emotion off the menu altogether. I once told a male friend (one whose work also guarantees certain excesses of solitude) that I often became sad and lonely in my office. He said "That’s crazy." As you can imagine, that cheered me right up. I was practically skipping after that!

We are most partial to sadness only once someone has risen above his or her depressive state (or genes, depending on which theories of depression you accept) and done something great. Look at all the great depressed American writers: William Styron, Sylvia Plath, Tennessee Williams, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, etc. Their writings once comforted me because they convinced me that my crippling blues were a sign I was destined for greatness. But what is depression when not a sign of latent creative genius? It’s just pedestrian, inconvenient and unattractive (unless you’re careful to closet your sadness and stay in your apartment from Thanksgiving straight through Easter so no one can be dragged down by your heavy moods).

Today I was determined to create and consume my own Happy Meal and so I did what any sensible sad person would do. I left work (not that work makes me sad, but sometimes sad people need extra doses of happiness and sunshine before hunkering down for winter) and headed to Westchester to play golf and take one last look at the vibrant leaves before the cooling temperatures and winds pull them right of the trees. My lunch consisted of:

Multiple uplifting views of the Hudson River
Four Pars
Silly banter with the caddie master
One high five with the assistant pro

Notes:
*Forced to concede that the costs of operating in Iceland have become prohibitive, McDonalds will no longer be offering Happy Meals, or any other meals, in Iceland