And I stopped. I looked at her and felt something melt inside me. This girl didn't know what a mortgage was, or social pressure, or urgent letters, or the fear of unfulfilled expectations. She was just happy. Genuinely, openly, like a child. And I caught myself thinking — when was the last time I was just happy like that?
We often associate happiness with things: “I'll buy a new bag and then I'll feel better,” “I'll go on vacation and everything will be fine.” And then we buy, we go away, and inside we still feel empty. Because genuine feelings cannot be bought. They can only be experienced. Felt with your skin, your heart, every cell of your body.
I started collecting things that can't be bought: the smell of fresh bread in the bakery in the morning, a hug without words, the look of a loved one through the crowd, quiet snow in January. All of this is mine. And no one can take it away from me.
What's in your collection of happiness?