Benjamin is in group therapy. Every day the leader asks him how he feels. I of course am not invited but I have broached the same question often enough to predict his answer. 

"I'm not sure." 

His face registers shame, as if he has been asked for the location of the key to the door of a house in flames with five people inside. 

My inclination is to fault him for not knowing. Of course you should know. But if I pay attention some of the other men in my life stumble on those inquiries as well. I on the other hand spend copious hours reviewing how I feel. Today alone I have three appointments with friends who will ask how I am, but the answers will not be repetitive because my emotions are as wavering as the wind. 

I am beginning to consider the possibility that Ben does not know how he feels, and perhaps was not wired with that tendency. If someone were to ask me several times a day how my spleen is, I would mumble too. 

"How is my spleen?  Where is my spleen? What is my spleen? Uh, I never really thought about it. Do I need to know? It seems to work fine without my supervision. How does one go about finding out how one's spleen is faring?"

Just for fun, my daughters and I practiced on the dog who currently lives at our house. 

"Indie, how are you feeling?" Indiana Bones lifted his head at the greeting, but made no remark. He looked pleased that we were addressing him so directly, and we could not resist petting his furry head. He went back to his previous activity of resting. 

Near the end of his life on earth John's father had a preferred response to these questions. 

"How are you?"

"I'm GREAT!" His melon shaped smile appeared as punctuation. He had decided that life is a marvelous gift, and whatever passing circumstances he was experiencing had no impact on that truth. 

Maybe there are people, and fully functioning creatures, in this world who are content to just be. They do not need to analyze their day, or label it, or quantify it. It is enough simply to live it.