Lately,
people keep asking me a question I thought would be simple. It usually comes
after they see the line of my dating profile: the goal isn’t marriage or
kids. The goal is happiness. Marriage and kids are just a bonus. Then they
ask, "Are you happy?”
I
thought I’d be able to answer easily, but the truth is, I hesitated. I asked myself
when was the last time I truly felt happy. The memory that came back was September
2024, when I was home alone for a while. Those quiet, chaotic days felt
strangely peaceful. I moved through life like every day was a little holiday every
day, going for midnight dates, attending events, doing small things just for
me. For a moment, it felt like my life actually belonged to me.
I
tried to find something more recent. Real laughter, the kind that leaves
you catching your breath from a loud so loud. Every moment that came up involved
my friends; late night conversations, small adventures, bursts of lightness and
freedom. Then I tried to think of moments when I felt that same happiness at
home. I couldn’t find a single one. Not last year, not five years ago, not even
within the last decade.
It’s
a strange, hollow feeling when the place you return to every night holds so little
joy. Maybe that’s why the question lingers longer than it should. Because I’m
starting to realize the happiest parts of my life don’t exist at home, they
exist everywhere else.