The past couple of months in our house have been, for lack of a better word, muted.  My blog has lacked life because I sort of have.  For the second time in less than a year I’ve found myself struggling for air.  I don’t like the recurring theme of the feeling.

I’ve mentioned in recent months my regular struggle with isolating, disappearing into my head.  Then I’ve turned around and done that (once again to my husband’s disappointment).

I’ve mentioned in passing once or twice my husband’s struggle with depression, and the recent months have been bad for him too.

Maybe it’s the winter that’s refused to let go until suddenly turning into 80 degree weather.  Maybe it’s the constant fluctuation of health news in our house. Maybe it’s realizing that our kids are growing up faster than we feel capable of.

I’ve been playing with perking up.  Getting my cute shoes recently & wearing them when I go out to feel perky.  I’ve taken a recent foray into playing with fingernail polish (my current color is a bright, cheerful orange).  Today I dug out my camera in hopes that maybe using it it again will help too. Today I’m writing a blog post for the first time in weeks.  Little steps.  Once again trying to unbury from the pile of crap that is my current funk.

Then this morning I was catching up on one of my favorite TV series, House.  As I watched, distracted by other things, half paying attention…one statement pulled my attention back.  Thirteen (yay, she’s back!) was talking about happiness…and her comment was:

“Our level of happiness is set. It’s in our DNA.”

It’s an incredibly cynical view.

But is it right?

Are we pre-destined to be happy or miserable by our DNA?

I’ve often wondered, throughout my whole life, how I can feel so different.  So very…”un”.  That people seem to sense it before we’ve finished being introduced (or is that paranoia?).  And yet my brother, very clearly of the same genetic pool as I am…can be one of those magical people that draws everyone to them. That is the center of attention. That is popular. Happy. Confident.

Nature vs. nurture.

Can we literally blame our parents for creating a genetic cess pool that became us?  Or does life mold us into something that becomes set in stone at a certain age?

Am I destined to live with my available level of happiness no matter what I do to fix it?  Is my husband destined into a world where not even the most modern of medicines can help him cope w/ sometimes disabling levels of depression?

Are we truly limited in our happy?