When I see "happy" people, I cannot help but think they simply do not care about the "big" questions.  Many wonder why I find life so paralyzing, and it is precisely because I cannot escape philosophy.  I don't think one can escape philosophy any more than one can escape language.  The fact that it remains ignored by a majority simply tells me that a majority of humans know next to nothing of human nature. Animals are perfectly content because they have neither language nor reason.

I must admit that I envy these happy wanderers, regardless of -- or perhaps because of -- their blissful ignorance.  It's okay to be a moron so long as you don't know it, and so long as you're surrounded by other morons.  Sometimes I wish I had never stepped foot into a bookstore or a college.

I'm reminded that this sort of metaphysical melancholy is precisely why David Hume sought to disintegrate philosophy; happiness, he thought, is only to be found in the simple life of custom and tradition, unburdened by the problems of speculation.  Still, I'm also reminded of John Stuart Mill's dictum:  "Better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied."

But the Cold is coming, and that always gives me hope (for reasons too complex, or just too many, to explain).  For about five months of the year I can find some degree of contentment.