Happiness is a warm puppy.

According to my mother, misery loves company. I've been careful not to be too happy, although euphoria does take over at times and I find myself smiling for no reason at all. The other day a friend asked me, "Are you really happy?"

I hesitated for a moment, thinking of my friend whose life is a rut, married to the wrong person, longing for someone, something to validate his existence. If I answered, "Not really," I might have given him a sense of camaraderie. Instead, I told the truth. "Yes, I'm happy."

I argue within myself that people really benefit from another person's happiness. Why do some of us feel so guilty about our own state of happiness? Are we so undeserving that we can't claim our own happiness or are we so concerned that one less fortunate might feel jealous.

By denying our own happiness to others, aren't we giving validation to a piss poor existence that enables others to accept their shitty lives? By sharing our joy, are we not offering others a glimmer of hope that happiness exists?

What if you leave someone, through a break-up, a divorce, whatever. Should we feel guilty for leaving? If that person cared about us, that is in the real sense, wouldn't they want to see us happy even if meant losing us? And if we chose to leave, did they really "have" us anyway? If it was meant to be, we'd still be there. Didn't we do them a favor by leaving? After all, who wants to be with someone whose heart really isn't there. Let them go on and find someone who will love them for who they really are. Let them let go.

I've since redefined happiness:
Webster's definition: Characterized by good fortune; Having, showing or marked by pleasure.

My definition: Being in the moment, not living in the past or future; being your real self and someone liking, or loving you in spite of it; not longing.

I once was broken up with by a guy's doorman. "I'm sorry Ms. Hobbes, Jonathan won't be coming down". Ever." -Miranda Hobbes