This title seems so sad and as I write it, I am hit with the morbidity of the truth.
But I had a thought the other day about this. We were learning about in class about how love is riddled with fear. Fear that our intended will not return the love and then fear we will lose that love.
I think that’s pretty spot on, but even more than that, I think it applies pretty well to being happy.
Because once you’re totally happy, if you ever can be, you know what it feels like to not be happy, and there is the fear of going back. Because where do you go when you are totally happy? Is happy the same as satisfied? Content? Fulfilled?
I guess we just learn to live with that constant fear and not go crazy. Not stay up at night fearing the loss of our love. We learn to cope and adapt. But isn’t it strangely ironic how the “happiest” and “best” and “most fulfilling” things are tied to such deep fears?