Happiness to me is elusive. If I think back to times I thought were happy, was I actually happy? Memories and nostalgia can paint things. But there were certain times that seemed happier than others. But were those not happy times necessary to experience the happy ones?
There are little moments in any average day that I'm very grateful for (food, driving my car)
Or is happiness a choice that is independent of external factors? But isn't it hard to feel happy when loved ones have passed, or if you're like in a torture room or something.
To me, happiness is the screams of terror in a safe environment (a haunt). That adrenaline rush in others, that I caused.
To Charlie Brown, happiness is a warm puppy.
For me happiness is freedom to be myself and connecting to loving souls! Happy 2022 everyone!