Just the opposite. The bulk of us have the convenience of believing how much better off we would be if we were rich, good looking or famous. Imagine what it must be like to be granted such desires and find yourself nevertheless miserable. I remember that great quote from Rita Hayworth “They go to bed with Gilda, and wake up with me.” Forget all that psychic nonsense or the proclivity of people who’ve “got it all” to seek out such charlatans in desperation for a suitable explanation on their misery. My own defense is to forget about happiness and settle for contentment if you’ve the luck to find it. I have that luck and think the secret is pleasures derived from the most banal of things, like my wife’s appearance in her new maroon corduroy jeans and clomp clomp dutch shoes. I just grin and and giggle like a fool. And when she accusingly narrows her big blue eyes with “what are you laughing at?” I lose all control.