Better Late Than Never

I believe in happiness. Not just the easy joy, when you’re young, of a summer without school or a snowy Christmas. Rather, a deep, abiding happiness. I didn’t always believe this. I figured, until recently, you were born with a penchant—a knack—for it, or not. I was simply in the “not” category. I was a serious and sensitive child, easily saddened. Animals in cages upset me terribly; I think I was the only six-year-old who hated the zoo. I started a diary when I was eight, full of feelings I didn’t know how to express. I couldn’t bear finishing a favorite book, often starting it again immediately to see if magic was still in there.

Let’s just say adolescence didn’t help the situation. I preferred books to boyfriends, poetry to proms. To escape these uncomfortable social pressures and situations, I left the country twice as an exchange student: once the summer between sophomore and junior years, next for the whole of my senior year.

Even though those experiences impacted me deeply and changed me profoundly, it wasn’t until my mid-30s, maybe even later, before happiness became an almost daily occurrence. It gets better with age; I get better with age. I still think some people are easily and naturally happy: chipper, perky, glass half-full. The word “perky” will never be used to describe me. And that’s just fine.

Last September, I turned 43 and was happy to do so. We sold our house and downsized to a two-bedroom apartment we love, donating most of our belongings in the process. Our daily commute has gone from nearly an hour each way to less than ten minutes. I have two hours back every day! I read more. I sleep in. I spoil my dog terribly. I appreciate my husband. I go for long walks when the weather permits. I write. I meet friends for lunch, drinks, dinner.

There are endless reasons I’m happy, the most important being the ease I have much of the time in my own skin, a fairly recent deal I’ve made with my resident feelings of inadequacy and jealousy (we settled out of court). I don’t care if I eat two cookies instead of one. And, I’ve come to realize, neither does anyone else. So, yeah, I believe happiness is my right. I deserve it. I’ve earned it.