Stikkord: Happiness

Maps of Happiness: On the Hidden Geographies of Life

A reflection on the places, people and versions of ourselves that guide us towards the existence of happiness.

What if happiness is not a destination, but a geograpical line we reach through time?


The life I am still building

When we are born, there is a ‘map’ most of us are handed before we are old enough to question it. Depending on who, what and where we are, said map has roads supposedly leading to sucess;
Through independence, a career, a family and good achievements.
Some routes are wide and well paved, while others are narrow, expensive – or difficult to find all together.
And somewhere along, we are told that following these roads – in the right order, we will arrive at a good and happy life; where we are expected to have become someone.

But what happens when these maps are drawn out without the variation of human bodies in mind?

For many disabled people like myself, the road to ambition stops at a huge roadblock, not yet able to let us go any further. In similar fashion, the road towards independence makes a ‘not-so-small’ detour: towards hospitals, medications, surgeries, lack of job-opportunities, and various changes in what becomes accessible to you.

Our energies are not infinite.
You might have made big plans, but in a body that does not cooperate with them.

These roadblocks are not few – and have a tendency to infect every-single-are of our lives…
– When you want to create something meaningful, but the world keeps asking you to prove that you deserve the opportunity to do so.
– When said opportunity, for no apparent logical reason, requires you to go beyond what your body is capable of.
– And then when shit hits the fan, as said roadblock appears before more and more people, it is those who’ve always been excluded that gets the blame.



The map we were given

As a very ambitious – AND very disabled person, I have spent my entire life so far pushing my body towards the absolute edge of its limits – and paying the price for it in return.
This means learning what I can, and what I cannot do. it also means learning the language of hospital wards, the mathematics of my energy – and the strange geography of a world that does not always make room for people like me.
But fear not! Because my route is not yet finished!

There is nothing inherently wrong with wanting a career, a home, financial independence, a family – or the satisfaction of doing something well.
These are beautiful things to want!
The problem, however, begins when we mistake the arrangement of these things as the finite definition of a meaningful, happy life!

Most societies today are surrounded by a variotion of measurements;
– How much do you earn?
– What do you do?
– How productive are you in life?
– How independent are you?
– How much have you achieved?
– How far have you come towards your goals?

And when that is the daily background noise, whether it be from family, social media or even from your own internalized self; even the concept of happiness can become a performance. AKA; A carefully arranged exhibition of wellness, success and personal growth… And if your life does not resemble this exhibition, you are encouraged to consider – (excuse my language) – what the f. might be wrong with you?!
– Perhaps you’re just not trying hard enough.
– Perhaps you need to be more disiplined.
– Perhaps your ambitions are unrealistic.
– And, perhaps you should be grateful for what you have!
All of which are possible by the way!
And all of which are rational to consider…

But!
There is a particular cruelty in being told to dream smaller, just because the world as it is, refuses to make room for your dreams -thus shut them down with roadblock after roadblock for no logical reason what so ever.

I know ambitions can be complicated when you are disabled. There are many things I want to do, that require more planning than they might for someone else. And opportunities that come with practical barriers. There are days in my life where the current state of my body has a veto in my schedule, whether I like it or not.

But – and this is a big but!
I refuse to believe that the existence of limitations means I should stop wanting things. And I refuse to believe that a disabled person should be less ambitious in order to be more acceptable to society.

And I refuse to confuse a difficult route with an insignificant destination.



A different geography

Whether we like it or not, disability changes the geography of life.
Sometimes the distance between where you are – and where you want to go is measured in kilometres. Sometimes it is measured in personal energy.
Sometimes the distance between wanting something, and being able to do it is not a lack of motivation, but rather a lack of accessibility, support, health, money or opportunity.

Someone ones told me to stay in my lane, accept my defeat so as to not be sad.
But they got it completely wrong.
Because, the potential of my ambitions makes me happy!
And disabled or not, a dream can remain important while the route towars it changes…

If there is one thing I wish were more apparant about disabled lives its this;
We are not all standing at the same starting point, looking at the same road, with the same supplies in our backpacks.
– Silje Elsrud Yttervik

Some of us have spent years learning how to navigate our presence and existence in the world; becoming experts in our own limitations, long before we were old enough to understand why the world seemed so diffucult.

Some have had to learn the difference between accepting what is real, and surrendering to what other people expect of us.
That in itself is a strong distinction, and does not only apply to people with disabilities!

I can acknowledge that my body has limitations, withouth deciding that my future must be limited to said limitations:

I can plan around my health, without making health the only thing to plan around.
I can be ambitious and still need help.
I can take time to rest and relax – and still be serious about my work.
I can have a life that requires adjustments, and still want a life that is rich, meaningful, creative and full of possibilities.

A different route in life is not a smaller life.
It’s a different route.

What if happiness is somewhere else?

Perhaps one of the strangest things about the concept of ambition, is that it can be so closely tied to a spesific destination that we forget to ask whether we actually want to live there.
– Silje Elsrud Yttervik


We are told that happiness comes,
– With the perfect job.
– With financial success.
– With a beautiful home.
– With a good relationship.
– With the perfect body.
– With the perfect family.
In general;
– With the version of ourselves that has become entirely satisfied, achieving all their goals.

But, I believe that for most people,
happiness is not a destination marked on the map. Instead, I view it as a collection of places, people and experiences that make us feel the most like ourselves.

For me, that might be things like playing board-games for hours with my gamer-friends, or having lunch with my girlfrinds in between busy days. In having a fun conversation on the phone, or a walk in the forest behind my house, or visiting known museums while travelling to other cities/countries.

I also find happiness in truly personal things; like curating a safe, calm, clean and beautiful space just for my own pleasure – or listening to music on headphones at home, being completely enmeshed in my own creative headspace.

And it lies here;
in the freedom of knowing that while I have not completed all my dreams thus far – I still have time.
There’s still a road in front of me.

The map is not finished

My vintage-inspired globe placed on the desk with books, a bouquet of dried flowers, candles, and old writing supplies.

I do not know what my future will look like.
I know some of the things I want, some of the obstacles I will face – and I know that there will be times when I need to change my plan(s).

Some of these routes will take longer than I would like. Some things will require help; things I want to create – and directions I want to take, and versions of myself I have not yet met.

But more than anything, I think it is worth remembering, that as the world becomes eager to tell us how our lives should look – and as disabilities are treated as a reason to lower standards rather than a reason to rethink the structures around us;
a meaningful life does not need to follow the map given to us!
To not conflate ambition with achievement – or happiness with productivity.
These things are not the same!

And lastly, perhaps the most important thing we can do is to learn to distinguish between the things we cannot change, and the things we have not yet been able to imagine differently.
This is where true potential lies. And a possible beginning!

___________________________________________________________________


A small task for the week: Draw your own map!

I want to invite you to do something a little different this week.
Take a piece of paper.
On it, draw a map of the life you are building. You can use roads, rooms, islands, stairs, rivers – or just simply words scattered around.
Then ask yourself;

1) What did I learn that a good life was supposed to look like?
Which expectations did you inherit from family, society, school , work or social media?

2) What do I actually want my life to contain?
What matters to YOU specifically?

3) Which ambitions are still alive in me?
What keeps returning, even after dissapointment, illness, uncertainty or time?

4) What would make those ambitions more sustainable?
What support, resources, adjustments, boundaries or changes might help?

5) Where do I already feel like myself?
Places, people, activities or moments.

6) What is one small thing I can do this week that belongs to the life I am building?
A small move towards something bigger



– Silje

The Beauty of a «Smaller» Life

The quiet joy of building a life that fits you

So, I wrote about a similar subject a few weeks ago, but really wanted to approach it again – from a slightly different point of view. Because, I find that there is a strange assumption in modern society, that lives worth living must always be LARGE;
Large careers, large social circles, large ambitions, large houses, and large scedules.
As if you’re always expanding, always moving – and always, aaaalways visible to everyone and everything – always!

And, in that same aspect; if your life ever becomes smaller than this, or moves a bit slower – and in general seem more contained, people often assume that something is, well – wrong.

But, I am beginning to think that maybe the opposite is true.
Because, my life is not small, not really – it’s just built around different measurements all together.
My life, built for me and my needs, are planned around adaptation, and especially the adaptation of unpredictability. Because my health can – and often have changed suddenly, and withouth warning.

And, while it is true that this kind of life requires a certain limitation to it, it also creates something else:

A profound appreciation for even the most miniscule forms of happiness!

Especially during the last few years, I have begun to believe that many disabled people experience joy a bit differently than the rest of society.
This is not necessarily because our happiness is lesser than others’s – but because we have become deeply aware of how fragile ordinary life actually can be.

So, simple things like a peaceful morning, a good cup of coffee, a clean, fresh and organized apartment, a good conversation, a creative evening before bed. – Or, in my case, any and all (positive!) changes to a general routine, can make me feel like I’m at the top of the world!

These sort of things are often treated as insignificant by the outside world, so they stop noticing when it happens. But when your body and mind is unpredictable, ordinary peace and ordinary happiness can quickly become extraordinary!

And perhaps that is why ‘disabled joy’ just to put a name to it, can feel so intense at times. Because we notice all the little things many people rush past.

«When one door of happiness closes, another opens.»
– Helen Keller/
@The American Foundation for the Blind

I should preface by making it clear that I do not nesessarily think that romantizicing illness is the way to go. Nor do I think that the loss of something due to illness should automatically become a form of inspiration.

I do however think it is important to recognize that chronic /physical- or mental diseases in life, does change the way we see things.
And in just grieving the life we imagined, we fail to notice the new, simpler forms of happiness growing beside- and in front of us.

For a long time, I though happiness existed somewhere in the future.
In becoming healthier, more independent, more productive – and just more ‘normal’. But I am healthier now in my mid 30’s than I’ve ever been. 10 years ago I was more independent than I am today, and 20 years ago I was definately more productive.
But my god, I can swear that I have never been ‘normal’ xD!

So instead, the older I get, the more I realize that ‘being happy’ is much less dramatic than what my younger self assumed.

Sometimes, it is simply building a life that your body can survive in as it is;
with enough energy, and room to breathe.
And strangely enough that simple adjustment in the way I see happiness, have not in any way made my own life emptier – in many ways it has made if fuller.

Disabled joy is still joy

I also think disabled people are often spoken about only through our suffering. (Which I too am a part of!) And this is not fair.
Because the way we are spoken about, (and at times speak about ourselves), it would seem as if our lives are automatically tragic. As if our pain cancels out all the beauty in the world.
But this is of course not the case!
Because, disabled people fall in love, create art, laugh at stupid jokes and become obsessed with books and TV shows as much as the next person.
We decorate out homes to our tastes and our advantage, drink coffe with friends and dream about our future.

We experience beauty the same way everyone else does. Somethimes even more so than other people.
Because, when you understand how quickly life can change, joy and happiness stops feeling guaranteed
– and instead starts feeling truly precious.

Another thing is that it is something deeply humane about creating a life that fits the person supposed to live in it.
And many disabled people become incredibly intentional about their surroundings.
Whether it be specific routines, lightening, blankets, specifically easy to hold mugs, a bookshelf full of creative art, musical equitment or specific decorations.
Whatever it is, I do not think this is a superficial element – not really.
Instead I think that when your body feels unstable and difficult to control, creating a form of external stability becomes a form of peace .

«The world is full of suffering, but it is also full of the overcoming of it.»
– Helen Keller
@Wikiquote.org

Modern research on well-being also increasingly suggests that happiness is not built only through achievement, but through meaning, social conncection, stability and environments that support our needs.
(arXiv; Linguistic Reflexes of Well-Being and Happiness in Echo).

And perhaps disabled people just understand this fact earlier than most, as we are often forced to ask ourselves a question many people avoid:
– What would actually makes my life feel livable?
Not impressive, nor profitable. Not even socially admired,
but livable.

For me, that means living in a stable home, where I can be financially relaxed. It means sleeping enough (between 10-12 hours ), and have a clear, relaxed routine in the morning and in the evening, as I very easily get stressed. It means committing time to write and to other forms of creativity (mostly every week) to feel a sense of meaning in my days, and to workout to keep growing strong. It also means leaving enough time to eat, to hang out with friends every month, and enough time to just sit with my thoughts. And lastly, it means opening up space for a monthly spark of ‘flexible form of happiness’ come whatever may.

So sure, from the outside my life may not seem very big or impressive.
It is slower than many other’s , with far less noise and far less friction.
But it is carefully structured to function for ME.
The amount of peace I need, the ability to be as creative as I can manage. To fill it with all kinds of beauty and meaning that makes sense to me, even if no one else gets it.

It is also filled with joy; small and big, wide and narrow. And to me that matters much more than living big just for the sake of it, ever could…

___________________________

A small task for you, reader…
Tonight, try to notics one small thing that genuinely made your day better:
– A drink?
– A routine?
– A moment of stillness?
– A clean room?
– A good text message?
– A book?
– Or a soft blanket?

Then ask yourself;
«What makes this insignificant? What would make it not so?».

Maybe happiness is not always found in building a bigger life.
Maybe sometimes, it is found in building one that fits your own size!

– Silje

Maps of happiness; on the hidden geographies of life

«Happiness is not a state to arrive at , but a manner of travelling.»
– Margaret Lee Runbeck

Happiness is not a straight road. Instead, it is a shifting geography, full of valleys, ridges and winding paths. Some lives are built like well-paved highways, others like dirt trails that must be cleared step by step. And some of us, perhaps, live on maps that were never fully drawn, forced to chart new routes as we go.
Because, whether it’s obvious to people or not, every life is like a landscape;
A house has its walls, a body its bones.
But what about a ‘soul’?
It might sound like religious mumbo-jumbo, but I personally don’t see it that way. Instead I simply see a human soul as a type of energy that may move from one physical person to the next – yet the actual energy in question stays the same.
Within such an idea, human souls have maps of their own, with rivers of memories and mountains of effort, valleys of grief, or plateus of joy.
These maps are then charted and re-charted throughout our life.

It is during these times that the highways most often travelled are quite often mistaken as the only routes worth knowing. But this is quite unfortionate.

As a disabled person, I often feel this truth in my bones. My body does not move easily along the «main roads» society lays out. While others may follow smooth highways, such as ‘ wake up early, work harsh, go to the gym, parent kids, cook, clean, relax and go to sleep early’ my own body can not keep up with this for very long. I sometimes face steep climbs, uneven ground or dead-ends; I mean, If it weren’t for coffee, I would not be able to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, and on ‘work days’ I have no energy to work-out, and on ‘working-out days’ I need to seriously cut down the amount of daily chores, to be able to wake up the next day. And despite planning all of this beforehand, days can still crumble at my feet due to my daily seizures.

The Blind Spot: Disability as Geography
Writers and dreamers have always tried to draw the inner world of mankind. Carl jung spoke of archetypal terrains; poets of rivers and deserts within us. Early cartographers feared the unknown, and filled the edges of their charts with monsters and sea-dragons. Silence is scary. Slowness seen as failure. Pauses are treated like death.But slowness is not the same as absence. Stillness is not void. It’s a terrotory of it’s own, demanding a different kind of navigation.

«The queter you become, the more you are able to hear».
– Maria Rilke

Furthermore, every map – like every life has it’s own blank spots; whether dismissed corners, uncharted spaces or unexplored areas. But what if these empty spaces weren’t voids from a soulful energy – but equally as powerful, instead?
– all potential roads to further happiness.

This is where disability enters the map. Society says: you’re stuck, you’re left behind. You’re too slow, too fragile, too dependent. But here’s the truth: in enforced stillness, whole new geographies open. There are rivers of intimacy – conversation that go deepeer because they have time to. Valleys of observation – details noticed because they cannot be rushed past.
Fortresses of resilience – strength born not from running around faster, but from enduring longer.

Society builds highways and calls them progress. But what if the footpath, the garden trail, the detour intoo slowness held more truth than the asphalt? What if the lives that refuse to be measured by speed are the ones that actually reveal the shape of being alive?
Mary Oliver put it simply;

«To pay attention to, this is our endless and proper work.»

Attention is not a byproduct of speed. It is instead the reward for stillness.

Photo by Marco J Haenssgen on Unsplash
Image by: Marco J. Haenssgen @Unsplash

The Cartography of Self
Interestingly enough, all these detours in the ‘landscape of life’ are neither empty nor pointless. Instead, they carry their own cartography, and what others see as obstacles, I see as landmarks of resilience. What others call delay becomes time to notice hidden beauty; the shade or muscle of a tree, the echo of children’s laughter, or the texture of nice woolen clothing.

For those of us whose bodies carry limits or pain, the map looks different. What others mark as shortcuts, may for us be an impassable cliff. What other’s may see as a detour may be our main road.

Because. in these hidden geographies, happiness and joy takes root differently – in small landmarks, in resting places, and in the secret gardens we discover along the way.
This is not only about disability. All of us live by maps that shift. Grief redraws the borders. Love reroutes our compass. Even rest – as the simple act of pausing, can reveal a different landscape than what we thought we were walking.

The question then, is not where happiness is, but rather how we draw it. Perhaps happiness is never found in one destination. Perhaps it lies instead in the hidden maps we keep redrawing – the quiet coordinates of laughter with a friend, the unexplected alley of rest, or the compass of our values pointing us home to ourselves, again and again.
These are the geographies that shape a life worth inhabiting.

Because, we are meant to inhabit our homes fully, whether those homes are houses, bodies or landscapes of the soul. They are waiting for us to enter, to map them – and make them our own.

Rebecca Solnit once wrote that:

«walking is how the body measures itself against the earth»

– but I think the same could be said about living. Each scar, each memory, each day spent resting or striving or breaking or bonding, becomes a line drawn across the map of who we are. The mistake we make as human beings is believing the map never ends.

Sooner or later, our energy will run out. And when it does, I hope I will be able to look back at a landscape filled with immense experience. This is because, for me – I have always wanted to be able to experience most of what life has to offer.

– Silje

___
A task for you, reader:

This week, sketch your own map of happiness. It doesn’t have to be beautiful or even accurate – just draw the roads, rivers, or landmarks that make up the hidden geographies of your life.
– Where are your valleys of rest?
– Where are your steep climbs of ambition?
– Where are the rivers that carry you slowly but surely forward?
– Which mountains have you been forced to climb, and what summits have you reached?
– What hidden gardens have you discovered along the way`?

Notice the blank spaces. They are not empty – they are waiting for you to fill them. And when you do, remember this: the world has always belonged not to those who run the fastest, but to those who dare to chart the unseen.

__
Further reading:

📘 Wanderlust: A History of Walking by Rebecca Solnit

📘 The Art of Happiness by Dalai Lama & Howard Cutler

📘 The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner

📘 Atlas of the Heart by Brené Brown