frol·ic[frol-ik] noun, verb, -icked, -ick·ing, adjective

noun

1. merry play; merriment; gaiety; fun.

2. a merrymaking or party.

3. playful behavior or action; prank.

I run through this.

During my run through one of Spain's largest and most aesthetically revered parks, Parque de Retiro--which bears something similar to the Bible's manifestation of The Garden of Eden and is located about 20 swift strides from my host mother's front door--I couldn't help but notice the overall happiness level of Madrid's city dwellers. Maybe it's something in the water, but this happiness pumps so vehemently through their veins that, well, they frolic. 

Now, we throw this term around to (improperly) indicate the state of someone acting stupidly happy. You know, those idiots we see literally jumping for joy over a menial accomplishment--my close family and friends experience this every time the Steelers score a touchdown, I win a game of beer pong, or my dad offers to take me out for ice cream. It's a pathetic association. Although we use this word ignorantly without the faintest idea of its literal definition, the people of Spain truly do frolic. Life here reminds me of a less-cheesy nauseating beach commercial featuring a blissful family laughing over nothing with jubilant background music (in slow motion, of course). In America, unless there are red cups or heaping piles of free food assembled in a poorly monitored area, we rarely witness a group of people joined together by the common love of just being happy. These people roller blade for fuck's sake. Name me one person out of your circle of friends who roller blades. That's what I thought, no one. Sure, it's most likely a cultural thing, but still. 

But even more than that, these people don't bite off more than they can chew--a crippling and all-too-common habit we Americans go ape shit over: "What? A third job needed to pay for the car I can't afford (but match my sunglasses so its totally worth it), so that I can drive my kid to get that thing that he'll play with for two days and eventually craft into a weapon to beat his younger brother with, so that my Tommy is more popular than Patricia's gremlin-looking beast of a kid, Jacob (God, she's such a drunken nosey bitch. Which reminds me, I should call her.)...? SOCK IT TO ME, BABY!"

Things are smaller here: the portions, homes, cars, people, etc. For instance, Spanish restaurants don't offer (are you sitting down?) to-go bags. And as a result of such modesty, people are ingrained with contentment. Many of us will never have the pleasure of experiencing this phenomenon. True happiness could flog us like a spider monkey in heat, but we'd keep trudging along, hypnotized by the whorish power of the almighty dollar. But, for those of us willing to sift through the clutter and clean our foggy filters of the superficial, clandestine bullshit, maybe we can one day capture a glimpse of what the overall Spanish population experiences every day--raw, real happiness.

Holy shit, my brain hurts. Go Steelers!