Happy Days and the Locked Box
Why Some Mysteries Aren't Worth Solving
Have you ever heard of a show called Happy Days?
If you were born between 1965 and 1975, this TV show was very likely an important part of your life. Richie Cunningham, Mr. and Mrs. C, Potzie and Ralph, were genuinely good people you’d visit with during the week, people who made you feel like the world was OK. And then there was the Fonz.
Played by Henry Winkler, the Fonz was a quasi-magical greaser who could draw women to him with a snap of his fingers, make a jukebox go without a quarter, and keep his friends safe. Despite the character’s strength and independence, the Fonz was very attached to and reliant on the Cunningham family, having been abandoned by his own father at age 3. And it is a tiny footnote to the character’s story that resulted in one of the greatest philosophical puzzles ever created for television.
You heard right: Happy Days contains a serious philosophical mystery. It’s so interesting that we can actually use it to think about our own struggle with fear. I want to break it down for you.
We learn from the Fonz that when his father abandoned him, he left behind a locked box. Eager to get into the box, the Fonz rode over it with his tricycle to break it. Inside was the key.
I love this story. It’s practically a zen koan. I can’t believe anything this subtle and deep made it into a television show at all!
Yes, on the surface it’s just a cheap laugh, a joke so bad it’s good. Surely it was intended that way. But the writers hit deeper than they meant to.
What is the point of locking a key in its own box? Why would anyone do that to a child? Unless they were trying to teach them something?
We know that the Fonz’ father comes back to offer an explanation and closure to the Fonz in the 6th season. Clearly he wishes he could have had a relationship with his son, and is no sadist. That box was his attempt at the time to offer his 3-year old son an explanation and a warning.
So what was the warning?
The only way to unlock the box is to destroy it. Once you do that, you have the key, but not the box. Let’s generalize.
The box is a mystery you are pondering about yourself. For Fonz, it was “Why did my father leave me? Was it something about me?”
Often we’ll go to any length to solve these mysteries. Like Fonz, we’ll destroy the mystery itself if only we can learn the truth. And what does the truth turn out to be?
Not just nothing, worse than nothing. By destroying the mystery, we attain the knowledge that could have solved it, but the knowledge is useless. In hindsight we see that it was always useless, and we’ve wasted time and energy trying to solve it.
The Fonz’s dad was telling the Fonz that some mysteries are not worth solving, that pursuing them is not only irrelevant but detrimental to our well-being. He was telling the Fonz that it would do no good to ask the question, “Why did Dad leave?” That answering the question would cost time and effort and would result in a useless answer.
I wonder if you agree with this sentiment. It can be so hard to turn our backs on our compulsion to solve our problems. “If I can just figure out what I’m so scared of, I can have the life I’ve always dreamed about.”
Not necessarily.
Fear is the locked box. Attempting to conquer your fear is destroying the locked box to see what’s inside. You may find that your fear was never the issue at all, that you’ve wasted time and energy and maybe irrevocably done some damage for a reward you no longer need.
Am I saying we should avoid thinking about our fear? Not at all. This scenario is just one of many possibilities. Investigating your fear may be a good decision, especially if what’s behind it is something concrete you can address.
The point is that the locked box scenario is a possibility, one you should be cognizant of. If you can learn to function with your fear, to tolerate it and move forward, if you can live with what’s inside that locked box, it may be that you’ll have no need to waste your time and energy on solving the mystery. Fear will just be another thing on your shelf.
Sometimes compulsion gives us a false sense of satisfaction by generating its own useless reward. If I hit myself, I’ll feel so good when I stop. Recognizing the distinction between a valuable mystery and a compulsion is a very valuable skill.
As we keep talking, we’ll learn some ways to discern when to address our fear and when to ignore it. If you want to work with me in person, I’m here for you. If you have your own “locked box” story, please send it to me!