The whole reason we go to school and sacrifice blood, sweat, and sheets of paper for those straight A’s is so we can go to a good college and get a good job, so we can live a comfortable life and/or support a family of our own. We’re striving towards a goal that, once attained, should leave us content with our lives and free to kick back and say, “We did it, we’ve achieved true happiness!” Or something.

“Happiness is not a station you arrive at, but a manner of traveling,” said a one Margaret Lee Runbeck.

It doesn’t do to focus only on the endgame. I mean, I’m still working hard to get a job because, well, I don’t want to live on the streets but real happiness isn’t suddenly realized once you’ve passed a certain checkpoint. I understand that some people can’t afford to stop working because they’re shouldering huge responsibilities and commitments that can’t be put off. But every once in awhile, try to take a moment to smell the metaphorical flowers.

This isn’t my excuse to be lazy or to procrastinate; it’s just that while there’s work to be done, there is also fun to be had. I don’t really know where my happiness will lie, no one does, because life is infamous for breaking up into paths that have paths that have paths. So, I just keep traveling. And I try to make memories as I go along, good ones that bring a fond smile to my face. The happiness is scattered amongst those snatches of memory: in a day at the beach, in an afternoon spent with tea and a book, in the sunlight that streams through tree tops and speckles the grass beneath.

Maybe that’s a little worrisome, not knowing the single definitive location of true happiness. But the opportunities have a funny way of reaching you, if you take the time to let them.

So, now I’m going to sleep. Because that’s definitely my small bit of happiness for the day.