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Happiness Isn’t For Me

There are entire books dedicated to this theme of overcoming adversity to pursue happiness. I’m starting to think people are putting this idea of Happiness on a pedestal, as the ultimate goal to strive for. There’s beautiful moodboards, quotes, a plethora of artistic platforms dedicated to this idea. This Golden Shining Emotion which… in my opinion, at least, is unattainable.

You can call yourself happy, put it in your Tinder bio, by all means. This isn’t a judgment on anyone. But I feel like there’s some permanence to the word that reality just doesn’t live up to and it never will. Life isn’t linear. We ride this experience like a rollercoaster, dipping in and out of that feeling, but it doesn’t linger for long. Because nothing in life is permanent. Not the beautiful, not the tragic. Not life, itself.

Maybe this is coming from someone who is plagued with the misfortune of having a chemical imbalance on top of enough trauma to commit multiple people, but I just don’t think Happiness is for me. Not really.

Can I be happy? Absolutely. I have carefree and captivating moments. I don’t know that I would describe any of them as happy though, no matter how infinite they made me feel.

I like to enjoy the moments and let them be just that. Because anytime I’ve put stock in a person or a job opportunity, or anything that I desperately wanted to stay… the end result is nothing short of disappointing.

So I’ve accepted this idea that Happiness isn’t for me. And that’s not such a bad thing.

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