I don’t have a lot of happiness in my life. I don’t have much sadness, either.
I spend most of my life between the 20% and 80% markers. And I don’t mind it. I am moderately passionate about some things, I am mildly upset by some things. Over all I’m doing just fine.
Except for today.
Today I spent five hours with someone who defines happiness for me. Let’s call that person Sam.
I’m not going to go into the details of my time with Sam, other than to inform you that some rather spectacular cross-gender pollination took place. My point isn’t how great my afternoon has been, or how wonderful Sam is, but rather the interesting difference between today and the rest of my life.
The best analogy I can muster is that of wine. Let’s say you drink medium-range wine as a matter of habit. You probably have no problem necking a bottle of $8 plonk, and when you do said necking, you’re probably not thinking of better wine. You’re just going about your routine and everything is fine. Then one day you have the $90 bottle.
And oh my.
It’s great. You knew it would be. Rationally, you know that you don’t need this level of wine. But fucking anchoring, am I right?
So here I am, all loved up, happy as fuck, and wondering if this level of happiness isn’t something that I should strive to achieve more often.
Infuriatingly, that’s the end of this post. I don’t think that level of happiness is for me.
I can’t tell you why, dear reader, no doubt there is something wrong with me.