The Bullfighter Was a Lady

"Why can't a woman be more like a man?
Men are so decent, such regular chaps.
Ready to help you through any mishaps.
Ready to buck you up whenever you are glum.
Why can't a woman be a chum?
Why is thinking something women never do?
Why is logic never even tried?
Straight'ning up their hair is all they ever do.
Why don't they straighten up the mess that's inside?

Why can't a woman behave like a man?"

-Henry Higgins, My Fair Lady

The whole idea of "womanhood" has been a dilemma for me. Perhaps this is because I find myself often on the male edge of thinking. Not logistically, of course- since "'Brittany' [Ahab] never thinks, she [he] just feels, feels, feels"- but I guess more on the desensitized, indelicate side of male thinking. I attribute this to my dear father and uncles, who, though I love them with every beating of my heart, have an amazing talent for making even the most crass and crude of commentary seem apropos for the moment. Whether it's a talent, or just a lack of, what's that word again? Oh yeah- tact- we may never know. But regardless, my being born with estrogenical phenotypes has done nothing to sway this brand of synapses from propagating in my female mind. And I welcome them! Because having that dad and those uncles and brothers who you've epitomized as the definition of humor, applaud your humor, is the kind of compliment worth writing home about. This is all fine and dandy, but... I can't help but feel like it is a sort of betrayal to the womanly virtues I've been granted, too. "What the world needs is a return to sweetness and decency..." (-Princess Ann, Roman Holiday). What of tenderness, and grace, and eloquence?
In the last week, I've managed to prioritize six Audrey films into my schedule. If one were to paint the portrait of a lady, I would say that my beloved Ms. Hepburn is the epitome of what a lady should be. Some characteristics of Lady Aud that come to mind: class, eloquence, style, grace, serene sense of humor, kindness, concern for her fellow man. Audrey and all her essence are indeed the receivers of many an admiring eye, both male and female alike. No man can admit that she isn't refreshingly and flawlessly lovely, and no woman cannot admire her. I doubt Audrey ever voiced a crass or harsh thought toward another living creature.

It would be absolutely divine to be able to effortlessly exude such poise and grace, but I just don't think it's in the stars for me. Channeling my inner Audrey- my inner lady- takes a conscious, strained effort... I would imagine it's much like a paraplegic trying to walk. It's not that I'm (totally) white trash or vulgar or anything. It's just that I happen to love It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia just as much as I love Pride and Prejudice. (Maybe not AS much... But I do quite enjoy it far more than any woman venturing to call herself a lady ever should.) I've decided my quest for 2011 is to acquiesce to my feminine proclivities and hone those propensities for the opposite with which I've seemingly been graced. In order to prepare for this quest, I have to consider those ladies who inspire me the most, both real and fictionary... 

Carol Calhoun - Grandmother. Once described in my journal as, "possessing a formula of the tenderness and intelligence and wisdom and humor that makes for a perfect person. And she's beautiful." I can honestly say I've never heard one profane word exit her mouth. That might be the most inspiring thing of all.

Sabrina Fairchild -  The charming little heroine of the movie, Sabrina. She handles her disappointments so gracefully and with such poise and fragile acceptance. 

Anne Shirley - Maybe my most cherished literary heroine of all time... Her idealistic imagination and whimsical use of words are nothing short of inspiring to Yours Truly.

Chanin Warren - Aunt. She's oh so sensible, classy, funny, and  naturally beautiful. And has the most distinguished good taste out of any woman I know. Every visit to her home is like a luxury vacay at a four-star hotel. She is a charming and considerate hostess, an unsurpassed chef, and a kindred spirit. There is nothing about her that I don't admire and whole-heartedly adore.

Charlotte York - Here's where I admit to my Sex and the City crush. Though Carrie is my favorite, it is Charlotte who portrays the qualities I find most commendable. She wants "nice bedding" and to be a mother and despite being surrounded by three other women who are somewhat indelicate, she manages to maintain a delicate feminine quality that I find quite refreshing.

Amy Winehouse - jk.

Ariel Allen - BFF. Her heart is three times bigger than anyone's I've ever met. She is selfless and giving. She is exquisitely lovely. She appreciates and protects the planet. She knows so many good words. She is funny and brave. I truly believe there is nothing she can't do.

Fraulein Maria - Yes, thee musically-inclined-nun-turned-governess-turned-wifey of the delicious Captain von Trapp. She lived through music. She enriched lives. She created her own happiness.

Annie - The little ginger orphan. Always optimistic, was she. I mean, the dame had red hair and no parents, and she STILL opted for optimism: "The sun'll come out, tomorrow..." You get it.

Of course, there's no such thing as a perfect woman. (Except for Audrey.) But as the new year is upon me, I feel that now is as good a time as any to labor for fine-tuning that perfect version of myself. My New Year's Reso's are usually foiled by the time March rolls around... But I'm a little more determined this year because this is something I've been musing about for awhile now; trying to figure out how to be true to who I inescapably am, yet still somehow capture the portrait of a lady in my being. In considering the character traits of the ladies listed above and in knowing my own poisons, I've come up with the following resolutions:

1. The over-arching, "umbrella" resolution: Ask myself, 

"What would Audrey do (WWAD)?" and then... Do it. Or not do it. If she wouldn't.

2. Actually USE all those words I love so much and have highlighted in my Webster's Vest Pocket Dictionary (to which I refer even when I'm not wearing a vest... Yeah that's right)INSTEAD of the choice words that sailors and I have in common.

3. Say "thank you" at least three times a day.

4. Invite lovely things into my life... Music, literature, art, people, experiences, whatev will enrich my life.

5. Cherish virtue. 

6. Be more tidy. Just because I'm the only one living my life doesn't mean I don't have to be inconsiderate to myself... Ha.

7. Recycle. Reduce. Reuse. 

8. Pray always.

9. Think happy thoughts. Is it any wonder that "optimism" and "opium" begin and end the same way? I think not.

10. Think more of others than myself.

11. Make time for reverie.

We'll see if I can get past March...

With these goals in tow, I don't have to wait for good fortune to smile upon me because I'll be creating it, and hopefully become more of a lady in the process.

Peace and Love.

The Lady Loves Me

 "You don't have to say anything.

But you have got to mean everything."

-John McCauley

So. Often on this space, I've taken it upon myself to delicately muse about the different fibers of my being... My sister, my penchant regard for heartstrings, my cherished tastebuds, etc. And although I've already born testimony about my kindred-like affinity for music... I'm not even a little afraid of repetition. 

Of all the things conspiring in my favor to make L.I.F.E. Lovely, Inspiring, Fervent, and Exquisite, I hold those alchemists of language and melody- conjuring up the elixirs that we know as song- almost solely responsible. My mind reels and reels throughout the day; sometimes to an irritating degree. But when it meets an empty moment, it so often (perhaps involuntarily) grants invitation to What Ifisms: "What if I had to choose ONE song to listen to for the rest of my life?" ... "What if each thought had a melody? Each feeling? Each decision?"  ... "What if there were no such thing as red heads?" ... "What if I lost my hearing tomorrow? What would be the last song I would want to hear?" There are a few things that I can think of that would be more tragic than a world void of music... But only a few.

Last night I saw this healing elixir come to life on stage. Of course it wasn't my first time... (When it comes to live music, I guess I am "THAT kind of girl".) I forget, each time, the thrills that watching music brings. Watching the synergy of strings, percussion, and keys coming together to create the combination of chords that melody into something that you know was instrumented entirely for your ears and yours alone. Watching lips relinquish the parade of words that for whatever reason seem to echo within your core. It is this art form for which I find the most appreciation and also the most ineptness at expressing my gratitude. Songs with words, songs without words, songs with words I don't understand... It doesn't matter. After having the blessed privilege of Opera-ing (fancy, right?) for the very first time, I was still at a loss for a word to describe the fullness of that experience weeks afterward. There just doesn't seem to be a word in the English vernacular with which to adequately describe it. 

  Mother Earth herself is a "benefactoress" (to borrow a word from Anne Shirley herself) of inspiration. And the more I seek out her assets, the more inspired I become by the proliferation of her amenities. Point: There is so much in life to be happy about. And though it is not Mama Earth herself that creates the music which is such sugar to my soul, it is She who provides the inspiration for those who create the art that I consider one of my most favorite things to be happy about. So, in addition to all the countless other things for which I owe her gratitude, I thank Mother Earth for being the living inspiration that she is, so that I can bask in her wonder and so that those far more eloquent, poetic, and awakened than I, can translate that inspiration into "that which cannot be spoken, and on which it is impossible to remain silent". {Insert delicate and enraptured sigh HERE}. I think it is safe to say, that music  is, and will always be, my mistress.

Peace and Love.

Got A Lot of Livin' To Do

"It's not what the world holds for you, it's what you bring to it."
-Anne Shirley

So much in what life holds for us depends on what we're willing to put into it. A few years ago I had a completely loathsome, mind-numbingly life-deteriorating mundane job at a call center in which I often idled away hours on the clock with what I now refer to as "musings". I would let my mind wander (because it was never in use for the four hours I was there dialing phone numbers for potential water softener clientele... Yes you read correctly. That really was a job.) And during those shifts on the clock I found a way to be productive by musing about a better way to spend my time. I would doodle and scribble and imagine all over the back of my "lead sheets". The ones which were particularly compelling to me, I made a point to save and tuck away, promising myself to make good on them someday. I recently came across one such "musing" which I distinctly remember investing very serious, contemplated, compensated (heh heh) hours for. I chose my words very carefully. Though less scripted than some of my others, this particular sheet, Water Quest logo'd (R.I.P.) and all, speaks volumes in it's simplicity. Upon re-discovering this little mind memoir, I couldn't help but think of the Bob Dylan gem, 

"All I Really Wanna Do". It goes a little somethin' like this:

"I ain't lookin' to compete with you

Beat, or cheat, or mistreat you.

Simplify you, classify you,

Deny, defy, or crucify you.

...

No, and I ain't lookin' to fight with you,

Frighten you or uptighten you.

Drag you down or drain you down,

Chain you down or bring you down.

...

I ain't lookin' to block you up,

Shock or knock or lock you up.

Analyze you, categorize you,

Finalize you or advertize you.

...
I don't want to straight-face you,
Race or trace you, track or trace you.
Or disgrace you, or displace you,
Or define you, or confine you.
...
I don't want to meet your kin,
Make you spin or do you in.
Or select you or dissect you,
Or inspect you, or reject you.
...
I don't want to fake you out,
Take or shake or forsake you out.
I ain't lookin' for you to feel like me,
See like me, or be like me.
...
All I really wanna do,
Is baby, be friends with you."

Now, my "All I Really Wanna Do" ballad differs from Bobby D.'s in that it does not relate to creating (or more accurately I guess, subtracting from) someone else's life, but to creating my own. I think the reason why his song reminded me of my "musing" is because of how he chose his words. Maybe you won't see the connection, or maybe I just think everything circles back to Bob Dylan (thank you, Pops). But either way, you are the author, the artist, the composer of your life. After re-reading the following words on that little 4 x 6 scrap of weathered paper, I have made the solemnest of vows with myself to make good on it in some little way every day, as best I can, starting today. Basically, I promise to bring to life everything the world has to offer, and absorb it completely. For, truly what better way is there to be alive than to feel alive?

Word by word, here it is:

"I will: endure. thrive. uphold. cherish. nurture. believe. bequeath. strive. expect. reciprocate. empathize. construct. perpetuate. promise. protect. abandon. comfort. satisfy. support. acknowledge. champion. fulfill. laugh. cry. enthuse. internalize. learn. study. teach. seek. find. practice. perfect. search. explore. implore. interrogate. uplift. impassion. fortify. succeed. exceed. sanctify. realize. relinquish. grasp. rejoice. repent. redeem. esteem. adore. dismiss. welcome. provide. settle. waver. define. redefine. discover. rediscover. elaborate. exaggerate. yearn. plead. protest. desire. succumb. supply. create. choose. remember. forget. epitomize. prioritize. neglect. play. work. overreact. ignore. compel. cave. faulter. stumble. struggle. conquer. prove. disappoint. impress. offend. applaud. disarm. appease. argue. evaluate. reevaluate. approve. improve. testify. torment. apologize. beguile. enjoy. digest. comprehend. indulge. sacrifice. inundate. transcend. believe. believe. believe. overcome. 

Peace and Love.

Artwork: Vincent van Gogh, "Still Life with Three Bird's Nests", 1885

Mono - Life In Mono

I found it altogether alluring. Quite-ly so.

Barefoot Ballad

 "Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language."  
-Henry James

Dearest, Darlingest Summertime,

Every relationship must brave it at some point, if there's ever a hope of progressing anywhere. The point has come for us I'm afraid. The DTR. These aren't fun for either party, I know. I've been told by other lovers that I don't act upon my feelings very adeptly, so, with that in mind, I feel like I owe it to you to express how I really feel about you. I'm so much more charming on paper, so please don't think me cowardly for versing my feelings this way. I think it'll be easier for me to truly elucidate how I feel if I refer to you in the Third Person. So here goes. I am deeply and importantly in love with summer. There are so many reasons why, really. The carelessness of summer, for one. I don't mean carelessness as in void of generous thoughts for others or negligence or anything like that. I mean the without-a-care-in-the-world kind of carelessness that inevitably comes with the dawning of each summer morning. It's impossible to wake up on the wrong side of the bed in the summer. In fact, I think that side hibernates during the summer. "Happy" gets redefined. I would say that sadness is an anatomical impossibility. ME! She who not only dabbles in emotion but drenches herself in it. I'm crossing my fingers that- Heaven forbid- any tragedy ever befall me, it will besummer me, because at least if something life alteringly disheartening happens between June 21st and whenev the last day of summer is, it will happen when I can cling to summer's embrace. {If it weren't so premature, I would say August 14th, the day Elvis died, should be the last day of summer. It might as well be the death of summer too, that way it can be the date for disarming not one but two things that make my heart beat. I never bother to learn what the last day of summer is because I don't want to know the exact date of The End.} Anyways. Oh summer. You and your effulgent rays. I want to bask in you all of my days. There's just so much that contributes to the wonder of it all (you).Here are just some of the culprits behind my undying love for you:

  
{The beach}

{Popsicles}

{Super Soaker fights with the neighborhood kids}

{Swimming at the grandparents & inventing dives with my brothers}

~To this day Alex maintains he invented the much acclaimed "Penguin Dive"... But he is sorely mistaken.~

{Swimming at our neighbor's house down the street and me always thinking it was odd that Becky (the M.I.L.F.y mom) used her bras as bikini tops. Now I think it's cool.}

{Crocodile Mile}

{Collecting sand dollars}

{Renting movies from 80's Albertson's}

{Staying in our family's timeshare in Carlsbad with all my cousins}

{Frequent stops to the 7-11}

{Swimming lessons}

{The Beautiful South}
{Endless sunshine}

{Snow Cone shacks popping up like daisies}

{The smell of sunblock}

{The sound of lawn mowers}

{Endless BBQ's(aka endless opportunities to eat a cheeseburger)}

{The. Pool.}

{Outdoor concerts}

{Warm nights}

{Sundresses}

{Bike rides}

 {Being tan}
{Watermelon}

{Sublime}

{Bonfires}

{Running through the sprinklers}

{Baseball games}
{Staying up late just because you can}
{Truth Or Dare}
{Summer salads}
{Black bean salsa}
{Corn on the cob}
{Whimsy being a part of every day living}
{Outdoor flea markets}
{Farmer's markets}
{Strawberries}
{New sunglasses}
{Monsoons}
{No such thing as snow}
{Hiking}
{Ladybugs}
{S'mores}
{Floating the river}
{The Fourth of July}

{Fireworks!}
{Meteor showers}
{Bare feet}
{Night swimming}
{Camping}
{Grandma & Grandpa's cabin}
{Fishing}
{Slurpies}
{Warmth}
{Sunsets}
{Picnics}
{Henna}

...To name a few. Oh summer. My only complaint is that you are ephemeral. If there were a way to capture you and keep you inside a glass bottle and drink you in and visit you any time of the year, I would sell my very soul. You can never understand the depth of my ardent adulation for you. I cherish you with all that is nearest and dearest to my heart; my allegiance is to you and you alone. Though I can appreciate fall's alluring metamorphosis and spring's cheerful awakening of life (winter- there is nothing upon which to congratulate you, I'm afraid), it is you, summer, to which all my enchantment is bestowed. How can I ever thank you for the exquisite rapture I find in your entity? I don't know. But I can promise you this: You will always have my heart, my devotion, my loyalty. And when you fade into the changing colors of fall and then become absolutely absent in the abysmal winter, my heart will slow it's beat for you, but will remain ever faithful. And when spring presents itself to to the world once again, my yearning heart will slowly find it's normal beat again, and through the hope that comes with that awakened season, will meet it's true source of life when spring gives way to you again. I remain yours affectionately and eternally,
Brittany Anne.
Peace and Love.

Gentle On My Mind

"' I'd like to add some beauty to life,' said Anne dreamily. 'I don't exactly want to make people know more, though I know that is the noblest ambition... But I'd love to make them have a pleasanter time because of me... To have some little joy or happy thought that would have never existed if I hadn't been born.'"

-L.M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island

 Today I was listening to my go-to Sunday music, the Original London Cast recording of "the seminal Broadway classic" Les Miserables. Ohhhh how my heart beats for everything Les Mis. I was first introduced to it when I was about five years old. Grandmothers are so exceptional for reasons which go without saying, but I will forever find my Nanny (as I call her) a "benefactress" because it was she who exposed me to the poignant, so-soul-stirring- that-it-feels-familiar-even-though-you-have-never-experienced-it-before-sort-of-way, musical perfection that is Les Miserables. I remember oftentimes in the summer I would go to work with my Nanny and it was during those summer morning drives when she would play the soundtrack and with each song, "mellifluously" describe to me what was happening to the characters and why they were singing what they were singing. I remember being distinctly affected by so many of the songs, even as a little girl, and not just  because of the words, but also feeling susceptible to the music itself. The strike of certain chords would trigger something so tender within me that it would bring my little five year old eyes to delicate tears. Ever since that summer, now twenty one years later, I remain nothing less than completely enamored with that music and the story itself, which I ended up reading years later in middle school. I believe that this early experience with music was what instigated what I now refer to as my utter and complete susceptibility to music. To this day, I can't hear certain chords without being held captive by a tear or two. 

Awhile back I happened upon this quote from Victor Hugo (author Les Miserables, the novel on which "my" beloved musical is based): "Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent." What a perceptive statement to make, for over a hundred years after his renowned novel was published, writers with their own incalculable gift for music would translate Hugo's words into an epic musical phenomenon in which even without the words, one can feel the power of the emotions being expressed in each song. Upon reading Hugo's quote, and probably in connection to my keen attachment to the play based on his words, I felt that I had never read anything more exquisitely true!

Maybe I was born with a special organ that only functions when I hear "Bring Him Home" (or all of Les Mis for that matter), or Pachelbel Canon, or any of the songs from Anne of Green Gables, or any of Alexandre Desplat's exquisite scores, or the whole soundtrack to "The Age of Innocence", or any version of Adagio in G minor, or "The Crisis" by Ennio Morricone. Whether anatomic or not, something physical occurs when I hear something I like. There are just certain chords or measures of songs or songs as a whole that will echo to my core. Ohhhh how my soul just reels. An admitted Emotionist, when I feel anything significant or dramatic, I want to feel it as much as possible. Any emotion is in good company with appropriate background music, right? Happiness (Regina Spektor, Abba, The Beatles), Pain/Sorrow/Heartache (Nina Simone, Ray LaMontagne), Anger ("Bro Hymn" by Pennywise, naturally), Peace (ahhhh Enya), Frisky (Jem, Portugal. The Man, Muse, Bob Marley, The Rolling Stones, Joss Stone), Romantical (Etta James, Carla Bruni, Elvis)... Grungy (Nirvana-ahhh {R.I.P. Kurt C. We miss you desperately})... Just to name a few. I truly believe that some thoughts just cannot come to be without being induced by instrumentals. Though I especially feel a connection to the music itself, which as Hugo stated so eloquently, speaks without words, there are of course lyrics in company with a song that can strike a chord with my soul as well. Indeed, that is why I think we love the songs we love, most of the time- because the songwriters have found a way to express in both word and art that which we sometimes cannot seem to express ourselves. For example, Bob Dylan's, "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" states far better than I ever could all the reasons why leaving is the only option left.

I often wonder which would be more tragical: being deaf or being blind. Naturally my first instinct is to say that being blind would be absolutely unimaginable. Except the opposite- because you'd have to imagine what everything looks like. But living without music... I shudder at the thought of that. It's just that there are moments in life that not only deserve but cannot be fully lived without background music. Sometimes I'll hear a song and think, "Oh, this is what falling in love sounds like", or, "Hmmm, this is what it sounds like when you are divinely happy", or, "This is what I will hear when my heart loses a part of what makes it beat." Not literally, of course. How completely enchanting would it be though if there was surround sound wherever we went and whenever we experienced anything significant, an appropriate song would automatically play to accompany the moment? For me, because I saturate my life with music, I just automatically hear those accompanying songs all on my own. My very own "background music" that only I can hear. It's not as looney tunes as hearing voices, right? It's like, the experience is the cupcake, and the music is the frosting. The cake is sufficient enough, but the frosting completely transforms the cupcake into something much more appealing and desirable and worth devouring. The cupcake tastes so much better with the frosting; life is so much richer with music. Maybe I just find too much surrender in the tunes and chords and notes and lyrics that I hear. But I'd rather live eargasmically than impartially. After all, if so much of "the music to my ears" contributes to thoughts otherwise never "synapse'd", well it's certainly more dangerous to never tread that territory than to tread it.

"Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent." Couldn't have said it better myself. So I won't even try. Peace and Love.

Reconsider, Baby

"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on."

-Henry Ellis

 When I was little, one of my favorite movies ever was

Bye Bye Birdie starring the scandalous Ann-Margaret (I've loved her ever since, and ESPECIALLY after learning about her affair with Elvis- what more credibility does a woman NEED??). In that movie, her character Kim MacAfee, an endearingly naive 16-year old, coquettishly sings about the glory of being a woman, in which the last verse of her song is the following: 

 "How lovely to be a woman, and have one job to do:

To pick out a boy and train him, and then when you are through,

You've made him the man you want him to be...

Life's lovely when you're a woman, like me!"

In her defense, it was the 50's. However, from the time we are little girls we begin to cultivate in our imaginations what life will someday bring us, including in the way of our "other half". We are fed fairy tales about princesses and being rescued almost as much as we are fed our three square meals a day, and this inadvertently lends itself to enchanting (*cough* polluting) our minds with ideas of our very own future. As we grow up, though we slowly relinquish our childish, whimsical ideas of what life must someday mean for us, we do continue to sprout and cultivate fantasies of how our life will unfold and present itself to us. Through whatever stimulus or propaganda we encounter as we grow, our idea about what Life should look like and how it should happen gets molded and shaped and rearranged and finally, solidified... until we think we have the perfect schema of what it is. 

Picture this lifetime-generated idea of Life as a box. We inadvertently (and obviously hypothetically), fill this box with contents (requirements, stipulations, ideals) we feel are non-negotiable in order for us to accept it as really ours. The contents are different for everyone, but everyone has their box. It's not wrong to have it, mind you- in fact, it's good to have expectations for oneself and for what one wants. It can be a dangerous venture though, because if we become too enraptured with our figurative "hope chest", it can blind us from seeing the goodness of reality.

I think that when Heaven designed me, It made me innately proclivitous to long for things. Sometimes I think it may be the tragic flaw of my humanity; to actually long for something in such a way that it comes to be somewhat of an adopted appendage. I call it a tragic flaw only because when paired with a propensity for addiction (another highly sought after trait I've been fortunate enough to have congenitally been given), it can be debilitating and thus hinder one's [*ahem* my] progression as a human being. As someone who governs almost all decisions according to the argument her emotions protest, I know this to be true. This kinesthetic relationship with one's feelings coupled with the aforementioned preconceived Box of Life, can be covertly malignant... Because one becomes intoxicated/disillusioned with an idea of what is "altogether necessary for [their] happiness" (-Christian Bale, American Psycho... And yes, I'm a psycho for even watching it... Whatev) all the while thinking one is being totally practical. Oh and when I say "one", I am of course, referring to Yours Truly Scrumptious. But assuming I'm not the only "one" out there, what do we do when life throws a wrench in our spokes? In this context... What do we do when we encounter something  we just adore with every fiber of who we are but doesn't quite fit into our box?

Do we give up the entity or give up the box? ... 

Kim MacAfee sang about finding a malleable man and rearranging him to make him fit into whatever box she had contrived. That does not make being a woman lovely, that makes being a woman tedious. And how sad for that man, who probably was a good guy to begin with, right? I only use this example to compel the point that finding Happiness does not always mirror a contrived notion of "happiness"; that reconstructing an entity to make it more conducive to our conceived ideas of happiness can sometimes be more destructive to finding joy than constructive. 
In other words, I don't think the answer comes in giving up one or the other, but in sometimes deciding which you have to rearrange to find Happiness. Whether it's the entity or the box itself. 

I ask again, does one give up the entity or give up the box? ... Maybe, you rearrange the box to fit around the entity, and get a reality better than anything even you, one who really has quite a talent for imagining things, could ever dream up yourself.

Peace and Love.