Lounging in my lawn chair one Sunday--the newspapers stacked next to me, the cats arranged in comma shapes on the grass, the sun dappling the leaves in light and shade--I thought to myself: This is it. Pure happiness. Not the blockbuster kind of happiness that we spend so much time searching for in love, work and a good haircut--but the smaller, more dependable happiness that lies coiled, just ready to be sprung in ordinary moments. If happiness is as easy as this, I thought, why is it so difficult to stay happy for a long period? Is there something about the human condition that directs us away form being happy? Or do we mistakenly think of happiness as a permanent resident in our lives, rather than a visitor who comes and goes?
       Happy moments--those moments when you feel fully alive--certainly exist. They swim by us every day like shining, silver fish waiting to be caught. When I surveyed my friends, what I
hauled in on the subject turned out to be the small fish of happiness, not the big denizens of the
deep. They said happiness is...Coming home to see the answering-machine light blinking.
Triumphs by my kids, triumphs by me. Blue Mountain coffee, freshly brewed. Long drives by
yourself. Waking up without an alarm. Seeing someone you love after a long absence...
Ultimately, what's so wonderful about happiness is that even when you're not searching for it, it
can find you. How else can I explain the feeling I had when a small boy came up to me in the
supermarket and told me he liked my shoes? I felt happy.

                       Alice Steinbach in the Baltimore Sun
 
 

Original Site:      http://www.frontier.net/~stevenk/happines.htm