Unsolicited Advice

The man said I should

do the thing that makes

me most happy and I’d

never work a day in my

life.

 

I didn’t know that man

and had no reason to trust

him. He was mysterious and

faceless, without form, airy.

A stranger. 

What did he know anyway?

He was just going around giving

bizarre advice to strangers, as if it

were his calling, his work,

his job. 

A mystery man doling out

motivations for happiness

like some mystic from the East,

a gypsy, a genie, a fortune cookie,

a liar.

I’ve no evidence what he said

is even remotely true, not for

the likes of me. Middle class,

damaged, mild, addictive,

stifled, bored.  

If the thing that makes you happy

provides no income, no food, no

shelter, no love, no place to sleep,

then the mystery man’s advice is

a trap and a path to ruin.

There are no universal rules to

happiness. There’s no slogan formula

to achieve happiness. There’s no measure

for happiness. No magic phrase from a

mysterious man. 

Just the choice.

Day by day.

Hour by hour.

Minute by minute.

Poem by poem.