A few days ago, I told a dear friend that I don’t consider myself a “happy person.”

He looked surprised, at first. Then, a bit concerned, and finally, curious. I became self-conscious at my revelation, and silently reconsidered my words in his presence, felt their truth and nodded affirmatively, moreso to myself than anything.

The truth of it made me feel as though I were missing out on something…

And I know that I’m not alone.

While I have moments of glee, I don’t feel constant access to that stream of “all is as it ought be.” Maybe it comes with being an empath; maybe it’s a call to mature and evolve further. Hormones?

Either way, that’s what it is right now.

I’m energetic. I love – and deeply appreciate – life. I’m optimistic, mostly.

But … happy?

And I’m not talking about giddiness, excitement, exhilaration or fun. I’m talking about happiness; that deep-seated “it’s-alrightness” that burbles up from within, and spills over everything like sunlight on Easter.

My friend seems to drink from it continually, and he says it’s just “like that” for him…easy…dare I say natural.


my curiosity is on 1000.

Are those who cycle through a more dynamic range of emotions doomed to a lower capacity to experience happiness? Are researchers right: is our capacity for happiness genetically predetermined?

Where does happiness reside in the body? How is the body a tool in accessing our wellspring?

How important is happiness? Is it important enough to be an end goal, or is it a by-product of cultivating something more valuable?

I’ll be sharing my internal reflections on this enigmatic state of being in upcoming posts. Feel free to comment, share and engage.

That’s what it’s here for…



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