Happiness often sneaks in quietly, wearing the faces I love most. It looks like my Momma Greatness, steady and unwavering in her love, and the four-legged companions who’ve wrapped themselves around my heart: Oso Boy, Sassy Girl, Chester Boy, and Opal Kitty. Each one greets me like I’m the best part of their world.
Some mornings, joy starts small. A fresh cup of black coffee. The comfort of my Teddy Bear blanket. A blank journal just waiting to be filled. A brand-new pack of yellow Ticonderoga pencils, and the soft promise of an unused eraser. There’s something about the beginning of a day. The smell of early morning, the poetic hush of rain tapping against the roof.
I find happiness in conversations that stretch out for hours, where honesty sits at the center and nothing needs to be forced. In authenticity, the kind that can’t be manufactured. In stacks of books I may or may not finish, or ever even start. In loud music that drowns out the static. And in the month of December, when everything feels a little more magical.
Comfort has its own kind of joy. Holding hands, the tender surprise of a perfectly cooked ribeye (rare, of course), or the nostalgic sweetness of Banana Laffy Taffy when I need a lift. At the gym, happiness hides in the effort, the sweat, the push, the quiet strength built rep by rep.
Sometimes joy hums softly in the background: the chirp of crickets at night, or the wind kissing my skin as I fly downhill on a bike and everything else disappears. When I return, Oso Boy meets me with wide eyes and a heart that always remembers. The smell of freshly cut grass. A new water bottle. A good night’s sleep. Snow falling in complete silence—these are my quiet reminders of happiness.
There’s nothing loud or showy about this kind of joy. But these thirty things, simple and sacred, are the pieces that weave through the fabric of my life. They’re always there. Waiting to be noticed.
Leave a comment