When we say we want to be happy...

We are saying that we want to make choices that will get us there. Right?

We are saying: when that thing comes around that will make me happy,

I'll know it.

I'll take it.

And I'll be happy.

It’s probably true that we are aware that we have absolutely no idea what will make us happy. Yet we have this uncompromising faith that we'll know it when we see it.

But here's the problem: a small part of us likes to stay in that sadness. It's like a cozy little house with which we are all too familiar. We know how many steps it takes to get up the stairs and to the bathroom. The teapot is always in the same place and the blankets are soft. Inside the house is a warm fireplace, the walls beside it lined with all of our best and favorite memories. Laughter bounces off of the walls, and we are wistful. The shelf with the box labeled “Things We Can't Have.” The jar of “Missed Opportunities.” We are safe in the house, surrounded by hopes and memories. We are comforted by the familiarity of wanting all of the things we have always wanted, of knowing ourselves perfectly.

Once in awhile we look outside and we see someone who makes us keep looking. They make us want not to look away. But we know our house well, and we let ourselves stay there because it's cold outside. There are no coats in our house. Being vulnerable means stepping outside into the wind and exposing our skin. And so even though we never want to look away, we do.

But it's not as cold outside as we think. It seems that way because frost streaks the windows and the wind is loud, and everyone who has ever been outside tells us that you'll just end up back inside the house, with hypothermia. We know this is true because every time we have ever been outside, it has ended in frostbite. At least that's how we remember it.

But then we look around and we think, maybe a little hypothermia isn't so bad. The house is feeling smaller than it used to.

and I don't want to have to look at you through my window anymore.