The other night Debbie asked me to tell her when were the happy times in my life. Was I ever happy?
I told her that, contrary to any outward appearances or to what other people have believed about me, I spend most of my time happy–in my understanding of the word–because I continue to hold out hope that the world will get better and that I have tried to do what I can to help in that process. But I also told her that I get disappointed a lot about the fact that the happiness I have felt has seemed to end up misplaced, that the world has not usually become a better place, no matter what efforts I may make.
That brings me sadness and I don’t like being sad. In the past I have looked for what I can change to eliminate that sadness. What can I do to regain that happiness, even if it has a false face?
Admitting to myself that what I have been doing has failed, that it hasn’t resulted in what I have desired, even if it is valued by others, is the usual first step.
I don’t like being a failure at what I endeavor, but an honest evaluation of my life would display that I have consistently been one.