Melancholy is bliss

Why is there always a bit of a pleasure in hardships? Is it because you await the light at the end of the tunnel, or because, on the contrary, the pulverizing power of our subconsciousness was correctly identified by Freud as the carriage of two horses, running in opposite directions (my interpretation) - Eros and Tanatos?

Oh, I love this carriage! The struggle inside has always fascinated me with the sweet temptations of both - pleasure and pain. Or the two concepts may not even be the opposite ends of the same continuum...they may well be the same point, where the ends meet.

Whatever the reason, I think the people in the past few centuries had it right when they said that there was a sort of mystery and possibly bliss in the 'melancholic' people. And today, so driven by the flow of the river of positivism, we all rush (oh, yeah, me first) for the sugary tablets, the sunshine and the 'fun'. But even the pink sunglasses distort the vision...they still are fake, albeit fashionable.

And doesn't some of the best, the truest art, literature, music get born right out of the depths of depression and even tragedy? Don't tell me that you'd rather read "Help yourself and smile" than a good Dostoevski novel.

And of course, there is a fine line, faintly visible in the depths of our soul, that we may never successfully follow, and of course living miserably is far from what I preach!

But isn't it just wrong to struggle for constant bliss? Is there EVER a true bliss? And aren't we just defeating the whole purpose by constantly going against the currents? Does this make us happier? Better? Or just unable to let go, to rest our minds on the surface of our subconsciousness and enjoy...let the thought sink in that nothing's ever just perfect...and that's just the beauty of it.