The Mexicans who are my friends, neighbors and employees are in general a happy lot—not because they have a lot, or even enough sometimes. Perhaps their happiness is a result of their attitude and philosophy of life.
Those who work for me—if times are good—go to work at around 9 am and work until 7 or so six days a week. If there are two or more regular workers in a family, they may have worked their way out of poverty—or not.
Sundays and holidays are family days. They rarely vacation. Retirement? They hope their children will care for them when they can’t work anymore. And yet—they are happier than I am, than most Gringas and Gringos are.
I’m unqualified to say why. Perhaps it’s the relative unimportance of money. Perhaps it’s focusing on today, on the current task. Perhaps it’s the lack of depressive northern European genes. Or perhaps it’s knowing they’re loved and valued and cherished from the moment they are born.
Maybe it’s the church—the Catholic faith. I understand from a friend who was raised Catholic that Catholicism is different in Mexico than in the States. Mexicans practice a version that’s mixed with indigenous mythology, one that’s less serious about its dogma. Although the younger generation is much less likely to practice, Catholicism is still part of the cultural norm, I imagine.
For those Mexicans in their sixties, seventies and eighties, religion is taken seriously and is very important. I suppose it’s the oldsters who populate—and support—the churches—cathedrals, really—that border every town square.
What a glorious culture that has beauty everywhere. Maybe that is why Mexicans are generally happier that we Americans are—the arts. Who knows? It’s a joy and an education to live among Mexicans and learn from their acceptance and their simple pleasures.
