I’ve always wanted to be a happy person.
We all know the types. The types who float through life with a smile on their face as they brush the imaginary chip off their shoulder. They’re the ones who not only trek upward when life turns on them, but they pick themselves up with a certain tenacity and perseverance.
And they do what I’m unable to.
They somehow find a way to rise above the dooms and gloom(s) instead of being swallowed by them.
And they smile.
I would say I’m grateful and blessed and all those words that are synonymous for feeling fortunate. That part is true.
I am fortunate, blessed and well aware of the real misfortunes that people face.
The great relationships, the jobs, the loving family and beautiful things that I surround myself with should make me happy.
I should be happy.
Then why does the “should” end up being the operative word that is so different from reality?