Well I never, old people ARE happy

THAT’S twice now! During question times at two different events, talking about my book Bel Mooney’s Lifelines, a member of the audience has asked how I define happiness.

It makes me feel like one of those fake Eastern gurus who think they have the answer to the meaning of life. Because I do not know. How can I?

You can feel happy one day, yet mysteriously down the next; feel grateful for what you have, yet full of unfulfilled longings . . . like most of you reading this, I bet.

This week, the National Survey f or Health and Development (NSHD) published research suggesting we get happier through our 60s. Those surveyed were found to be much happier at 69 than earlier.

This amazes me, even though the Office for National Statistics has also found those aged 65 to 79 are the most content.

Really? My generation not moaning about wrinkles, bingo wings, low libido and aches and pains? Not feeling frustration at the mess that is being made of the world and the lack of common sense in government?

I’m blessed my personal life is happy, but just thinking about David Cameron pushing the wretched, failed political construct called the EU down my throat threatens my contentment each day!

It’s great my peer group is happy; that we baby-boomers are still rockin’ all over the world. On the other hand, the NSHD also records a smaller group who experienced a big decline in happiness.

Of course there are both! You might fit into either category according to mood.

When asked about happiness, it is tempting to come up with comforting sentences about knowing who you are, accepting the person you see in the mirror (jowls and all) and being at ease in your own skin.

I do say such things and mean them. But deep down I reckon the secret of happiness is not to expect to be happy at all — knowing it’s not a state of being, but a moment of light, here and there.