Happiness, my dear friends, is a bit like a shape-shifting magical creature—constantly changing, often elusive, and occasionally found lurking in unexpected places, like the bottom of a cup of hot cocoa. As a child, happiness was easy. It came in the form of dolls who all had dramatic soap-opera lives under my direction and in the chaos of family gatherings with my cousins, my stand-in siblings, because being an only child meant I had to outsource sibling shenanigans.
Back then, happiness wasn’t complicated. It was immediate, like the joy of a popsicle on a hot day or convincing yourself you really could make it across the monkey bars without falling (spoiler: I usually didn’t). Happiness was tangible, playful, and often sticky.
Then adulthood hit. And boy, did things get weird. Suddenly, happiness wasn’t about playing pretend or giggling until your stomach hurt. No, adult happiness came with invoices, responsibilities, and this nagging realization that owning a bunch of stuff doesn’t actually make you happy—it just makes moving day a nightmare.
These days, what makes me happy couldn’t be stuffed into a box or hung on a wall. Happiness is simpler now. It’s peace. It’s curling up with a good book, a roaring fireplace, and a steaming mug of hot cocoa while a snowy day unfolds outside. It’s basically a Hallmark movie set, minus the perfectly coiffed protagonist who saves the town bakery.
I’ve never been much of a stuff person, which is probably why Marie Kondo feels like my long-lost soulmate. I routinely give things away—not because I’m super generous, but because I realized years ago that clutter stresses me out more than a 10-hour Zoom meeting. Stuff doesn’t spark joy for me; it sparks migraines. But you know what does spark joy? People. Human beings are like my happiness currency, and I’m rich in the ones who make life hilarious and heartwarming.
For me, the value isn’t in what I own but in who I share my life with. Laughter with friends, heartfelt chats, and being hugged like a human teddy bear are the real treasures. Sure, I still enjoy a little retail therapy now and then, but let’s be real—those impulse buys usually end up in the donation bin faster than I can say “Amazon Prime.”
As I get older, I’ve learned that happiness isn’t about chasing something shiny or Instagram-worthy. It’s about savoring the little things. It’s about finding joy in the absurdity of life, like realizing your “adulting” involves figuring out why your plants are dying despite your best efforts (RIP, fern #7).
So, if happiness for you is a new gadget, a dream vacation, or your dog’s ridiculous attempt to fit on your lap (I can relate to this!), good for you! Happiness looks different for everyone, and that’s the beauty of it. For me, it’s a warm drink, a cozy corner, and the knowledge that I don’t have to fold laundry right this second.
Here’s to finding happiness, whether it’s in the big moments or the little ones that sneak up on you. May your joy be as abundant as the socks in your dryer that inexplicably lose their partners. And may you always have enough cocoa, company, and cozy blankets to remind you that happiness doesn’t have to be complicated—it just has to be yours.