DUMB by NIRVANA. Story by Shome Dasgupta.

Academy parking lot, Lafayette, Louisiana, 2024.

There’s this Nirvana song where Kurt Cobain sings, “Or maybe I’m just happy / Think I’m just happy,” and I haven’t listened to it in roughly twenty years or so, but those lyrics continue to float around in my mind as I sit here in my car in the Academy parking lot, looking at the sky and a solo bird flying across the sun.

I interpret those particular lines in a couple of ways — one, meaning that perhaps Cobain is genuinely happy, but the feeling is strange, trying to make sense of such an emotion. Another way is sarcasm or irony; maybe it means that the sentiment is quite the opposite and such is a sensation is far out of reach, and the words expressed emphasize that realization. The tone—the way Cobain sings those lyrics adds to that confusion, given in context of such a singer and the band and the decade, I find it tricky to figure out what he sincerely means, but I find sincerity in those words.

I think about those particular lines often, I guess, because I relate to those two interpretations, whether they are correct of not.

I don’t know how to be happy.

When I’m having fun, it always quickly comes to a stop, and maybe it’s because I know that it’ll come to an end, whether sooner or later, and I can’t appreciate the moment. I live more so in the past and in the future—rarely in the present. Cobain sings, “I’m just happy,” meaning, at that current moment, and when I feel such a way, I am very aware that somewhere in my mind, there is a sadness which is craving attention—looking to reach out for feeling left out because I’m happy at the particular time. Sadness is what I know best and it continues to seek me out relentlessly. Its loyalty never fails. I can say, “I was happy,” or perhaps, hopefully, “I will be happy,” but thinking “I am happy” becomes an obstacle for my closest and most knowable feeling.

There was once a time when I lived in a time of no seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years, decades, centuries — I drank to lose time, and I’m now over five years sober, and my previous life still only feels like yesterday. Now will be tomorrow, but tomorrow I will not know now. In sobriety, we emphasis the phrase, one day at a time—it’s one of the most important mantras in my life now, and though I strive to focus on the present, I’m always very aware that my sobriety can be taken away—meaning, I’m also concentrating on the future. I am also one to constantly think about my past.

I first heard the song on my Sony Walkman in 1995 — this was on the Unplugged album, and the reason why I bought it was because my brother was such a huge fan of Nirvana. I was in my room, with my headphones on and staring at the ceiling fan, pressing Rewind and Play over and over again. “Think I’m just happy.”

Depending on my mood, there are days when I believe that Cobain means that he actually feels happy, maybe stunned by this sentiment—an epiphany perhaps. There are days when I believe that Cobain sings this line sarcastically, in that he knows that he’ll never feel this way—perhaps, wryly, like there could never be such a thing.

I don’t know—or maybe I just “think I’m dumb…or maybe I’m just happy,” and in either way, and I live between the realms, swirling around and around, wondering which way to feel.

Yesterday, I was sober. Today, I am sober. Tomorrow, I will never know. The difference between yesterday, today, and tomorrow, is that I knew what I once was, I know what I’m doing now, and I have no clue what will happen tomorrow, and it’s the last acknowledgement that overwhelms all else, no matter if I’m at a temporary moment of ease.

I’ve laughed once—I remember it. It’s glued to my skull. This was after rehab, and it was one of the purest laughs I ever had—I was at the park, watching pickleball, and I was thinking about pancakes. My life was new—really new, and there were so many unknowns, but all I could focus on was a memory of eating pancakes with my parents, and the sun came through the branches, and it was such a strange feeling of joy and peace amid so much chaos going on in my life at the time—I didn’t know what to do.

I laughed.

I just laughed and laughed.

I have to remember that laugh. It’s a source of light for me, letting me know that there is always a chance to feel happy if I continue to fight the obstacles every day—one day at a time, that is, and maybe, just maybe, once I understand or progress in understanding the feeling of happiness, it will no longer just be a memory, but a way of living, and when I think about those lyrics again from Cobain, regardless of which way it can be interpreted, I’ll think about it in such a manner that I will be in amazement of such a feeling.

Maybe I’ll listen to it again, and I’ll sing along, knowing exactly what I mean when I say, “Think I’m just happy” and smile.

Stereo Story#789