The Staircase Letters by Arthur Motyer

happiness. I hadforgotten all about it until just before Christmas when I opened a fortune cookie in Montreal—“You see beauty in simple things. Do not lose this ability.” Family, friends, things in nature—what more do we need? But we’ve come to expect so much more.
    I will always keep our home on St. Margaret’s Bay in Nova Scotia as a constant (lots of birds, pine trees, and water, most importantly a feeling of contentment whenever I’m there) even as I feel compelled to see how much I can get away with in the wider world. This latter motivation is a marvel for me. I’m never sure if I really want to make a contribution of one sort or another or if it’s blind ambition, any more than a miserable person is aware that their misery is for them a form of happiness.
    What you might expect often turns out to be the opposite. The saintly Mother Teresa, after all, was narcissistic, and, towards the end of her life, expressed grave doubts about the existence of God. At the other end of the scale, the randy British philosopher A. J. Ayer—he expressed his atheism at everyopportunity throughout his career—saw a bright light while undergoing heart surgery in his eighties, though he later claimed it only “slightly weakened” his conviction that death is truly the end of everything.
    So be happy if you can, and if you can’t, as Kurt Vonnegut Jr. put it best, “So it goes.” And so it goes with me.
    Love,
    Dean
    After reading Dean’s reflections, I realized that what Carlyle had written in
Past and Present
was near my own view. For him, in 1843, the awareness that one had been blessed was more important than any feeling of ephemeral happiness.
    Does not the whole wretchedness, the whole
Atheism
as I call it, of man’s ways, in these generations, shadow itself for us in that unspeakable Life-philosophy of his: the pretension to be what he calls “happy”? Every pitifulest whipster that walks within a skin has his head filled with the notion that he is, shall be,or by all human and divine laws ought to be, “happy” …“Happy,” my brother? First of all, what difference is it whether thou art happy or not! Today becomes Yesterday so fast, all Tomorrows become Yesterdays; and then there is no question whatever of the “happiness,” but quite another question.
    Earthly experiences can make most of us happy—good food, good music, good sex, having our basic needs met, driving a reliable car, being physically fit, growing a rare blue Himalayan poppy, all such things and more on an endless list— but unless a deep inner sense of continued well-being comes as a blessed result, that happiness can only be shallow and fleeting. Sitting contemplatively under a tree, however, in search of enlightenment, may bring a deep inner happiness, just as climbing a mountain to discover the truth of the Beatitudes may bring a lasting joy. Being happy and being blessed can then become fused.
    Elma wrote again the next day, bearing good news:
    Dear A.,
    On a note of serendipity—last summer, I wrote a letter of appreciation to Eleanor Wachtel, thanking her for the many hours of pleasure she has given me, and now she has sent me a copy of her book
More Writers and Company
, which contains a long section on Carol. Gee—if only I could arrange for that fate to befall my letters at will, I could build up quite a library!
    I saw my radiologist today, and although of course she can give me no predictions, etc., she seems very happy with the symptomatic results of the brain radiation (i.e., I can walk and talk, I guess!). What she said was, “Get back to me when you develop a problem—you’re too good for me now.”
    Ever … ever … ever …
    E.
    Dear E,
    Good news from your radiologist: why shouldn’t you be the one to defy all the odds?“Be happy!” as Carol’s daughter says.
    Ever … ever … ever …
    A.
    Almost two years after Carol’s diagnosis, Eleanor Wachtel conducted the beautifully sensitive interview, aired