What is this thing called happy, my friend?
Does it start with a wish—or come near the end?
Is it chickens in pots? Or cars shining bright?
A Mercedes at dusk with the headlights just right?
Is it closets packed with silk, linen, and lace?
Or PJs that tug you tight into your space?
Is it Levi’s and sweatshirts, cashmere so fine,
Or sunsets that spill out in colors divine?
For some it’s a sunrise, flaming the sky,
For others it’s comfort—no need to ask why.
Yet, happiness varies from soul to soul,
But, one common thread seems to anchor the whole:
At ground zero happiness quietly waits—
The absence of pain as weights start to abate.
Discomfort steps back and releases its grip,
Joy sneaks right in on a soft little tip.
Most folks will tell you, “I don’t know joy well.”
Yet it pops in unannounced—can you tell?
It shows up unnoticed, when all guards are down,
Not when you’re chasing it all over town.
Have you felt happy for no solid reason?
No purchase, no prize, no goal for the season?
‘Cause being happy is a state of your mind,
Not a thing you can stockpile, label, or find.
When joy fills you up to the brim of your cup,
There’s simply no room for the grumps to show up.
No restless, no sad, no gnawing “what’s next?”
Just happy, plain happy—no footnotes, no text.
Now here’s a small exercise—simple, yet bold:
Make a list of the rules your mind has been told.
“When I get this, I’ll be happy,” you say.
“And without that, no joy will come my way.”
Write them all down—big, small, and absurd—
Outdated old rules you’d long ago heard.
You’ll end with a list that’s impressively long,
A catalog dedicated to what’s “going wrong.”
Now wallow! (Just briefly.) Soak deep in the mess.
Focus hard on unhappy—what do you guess?
You’ll feel it grow stronger, that sour old mood,
Because focus, dear friend, is powerful food.
Then switch gears completely. Start a new list.
Add laughter and music and moments you’ve missed.
People and places and sounds that bring cheer—
And watch what appears when your focus is clear.
Count blessings, not guilts: a roof that holds tight,
A full belly, warm shoes, a bed every night.
Books, buses, museums, friends old and new,
A world overflowing with wonders for you.
Think of something funny. Laugh now, not later.
Drop “no pain, no gain”—that old agitator.
Being happy isn’t a prize you demand.
Ask a child in a sandbox, knee-deep in sand.
They don’t work to be happy, not even one bit.
They simply are happy.
That’s all there is to it.
