This is unlike any of my usual blogs. I have made a series of observations, and I want to make sense of them. This is a tough one, so walk with me through it.
Has there been a day when you wanted to cut through the chaos, sit down, order comfort food, watch a sad movie (like The Notebook, Coco, or Rang de Basanti) with all intentions to cry—followed by a deep sleep? How can sadness be fulfilling?
The Pattern We Don’t Talk About
We’re such complex creatures with a myriad of emotions. Still, why is it that:
- Most of us pick sad songs over happy, uplifting songs
- We mostly feel more comfortable dwelling in the past
- Some ruminate on sad events for a longer period of time
- Most of us estimate losses before expecting happiness of any kind
- Nostalgia has a negative connotation
- Most remember sad memories more vividly than the happy ones
- We seldom choose to work out, and mostly pick being idle with our thoughts
My heart already feels heavier. Think about it, dive deep into your thoughts—which side is heavier?
If you’re someone who learns from the past and moves on, and mostly picks happier songs, you might be a minority. Read along anyway, to explore how humans navigate…
If you feel in line with the above-mentioned points, well, let’s dissect through the whys together!
Disclaimer: I’m no therapist or psychologist. I want to understand and navigate through these thoughts so that I can be a better functioning human. I’ll share some personal stories and will try to peel through the emotion to find an answer eventually.
The Effort Equation
Most people around me, especially millennials and older people, pick ‘Tum itna jo muskurare rahe ho’ over ‘Chala jaataa hu kisi ki dhoon mein’ or ‘Die for you’ over ‘Happy’.
Similarly, I remember a time when I’d put an alarm to sleep for another 5 minutes rather than getting up and working out. And I’m a person who envies the people who are doing their due cardio running on the roads at any hour of the day.
Okay, an interesting thought unveiled itself: both of the above-mentioned scenarios bring in the path of least resistance. If I play ‘Chala jata hu’, it’ll make me move, it’ll make my fingers click. While lying in bed, setting another alarm requires minimal effort. So here’s the pattern: activities associated with joy demand effort and commitment, while sad songs and sleep are effortless, low on energy, relaxing as well—and therefore the default pick. No wonder there is a lure of melancholy.
The Memory Imbalance
Let’s do an activity together: Think of the happiest moment of your life. Then, think of the saddest moment of your life. Now, ask the following questions:
– Which took longer to find?
– Which stayed for a longer duration?
(Please think of the answers and then read further…)
When I thought of mine, here are my answers: My happiest moment—my 10K run—came to mind, which is recent but somehow doesn’t feel so significant today. I found that the saddest moment was less of a moment and more of a phase, while happiness is definitely a moment.
Notice something? Somehow, I feel our wiring has a clean and clear path to the sad moments. It’s effortless to reach those areas in our mind. Not only is the path clear, but it’s also incredibly vivid when you reach that zone. Once you’re there, it’s like wearing an old sweater: comfortable and familiar.
The Protective Refuge
We’re all a culmination of good deeds and bad deeds. I’m not qualified to be a judge, but I honestly think we’re good people, our actions are good, and we seldom have bad intentions towards anyone. Yet, we find ourselves ruminating over a specific thought, time and again.
If you ever find yourself lying in bed without the mobile phone (aka dopamine), do you immediately reach a scene where you think of other ways things could’ve turned out if you did say something differently, or you didn’t speak at all… things might have been different, might have been better?
Oh, the weight of regret! These deepest, darkest corners of your conscience become a refuge which sadly feels safe. It doesn’t have happy memories to revisit, as the sad scenarios lead to an internal dialogue which in turn give learnings for future actions. We return to this refuge because here you can be honest with yourself; it’s a predictable space, nothing changes here. So we use it as an invisible shield to guard ourselves from feeling the same way again. Vicious cycle.
The Automatic Controller
This pattern of dwelling in sadness isn’t just about reminiscing—it shapes how we experience joy in real-time.
Every time I plan a trip, I make it a project, where I need to find accommodation, manage commute, make required reservations, and book activities. Even during the trip, I make sure I’m not spending a lot of time on social media sharing pictures or experiences.
The root of such behavior is that every time I find myself very happy, I’m brought back to reality. So I’ve set a baseline of happiness and sadness, which is my personal normal. We all have such an automatic controller which increases or decreases our emotional level according to the situation.
As we’ve seen, sadness has more impact and weightage, so most of our controllers are inclined towards a sadness baseline—it keeps us sane and protected. Apparently, this is called the hedonic treadmill. We surely are an intelligent species.
Breaking the Pattern
This turned out to be more interesting than I imagined it would. What I learned through this walk of ours:
Yes, we’re human. Yes, we dwell in the past to learn and reflect. Yes, we control our emotions. Yes, we must protect ourselves.
But here’s what we must work on:
Choose the harder path. Since joy requires effort and sadness is the default, we must consciously choose the more demanding route. Push yourself to work out, even if it is at any hour of the day. It’s not just associated with your physical being, but it is crucial for the mental being as well.
Name your refuge. Reflect, learn from your past, and take measures to fix your present. If you find yourself in a vicious cycle of rumination, recognize it: “I’m in the refuge again.” When you notice rumination starting, actively redirect yourself. Condition yourself to not enter that zone for extended periods—something must be left to time and destiny as well. Let it be.
For me, this means setting a commitment: one workout per week, no excuses. One moment each day where I choose the happy song over the melancholic one. Small acts of resistance against the pull of comfortable sadness.
Because understanding why we choose melancholy is the first step toward choosing joy—even when it asks more of us.
Diamond Dogs 
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