Serendipitwaddle - Tania Katherine

Happiness is a strange concept. I don’t say that because I’m currently depressed or unhappy. Conceptually, I’m probably the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. All the factors that matter to me are in place: I’ve got a great fiance who I can’t wait to marry, the best parents and family in the whole wide world, a great job that I get excited to leave for in the morning, amazing kitties, great friends, and a Wii. I’ve been doing more yoga recently (which always serves to make me happy) and I don’t have an immediate heart attack when I look at my bank account because I’m meeting most ends. Of course, there are still problems. Those awesome friends and family? I don’t see them nearly as often as I wish I did and that awesome fiance and I fight like most humans. That phenomenal job occasionally hurts my eyes and sometimes before a paycheck my bank account does make me cry.

But invariably, I’m happy. However, I wonder why happiness has so many definitions. I know Michael measures happiness by circumstance e.g. am I happy right now as of today. I measure it over-arching. I have other friends who measure happiness by the depth of their closet or amount of their shoes. I have other friends still who measure happiness by how many people know their name and another by the chakra they feel most inline with on that day. 

With all these variations, are we all still talking about the same thing (happiness) or are we defining different sensations umbrella-clustered under the same title? 

Just some things I talk about when the cat falls asleep.