Notebook. January 2012
For some of us humans — mostly the introverts, I'm sure of it — we dig holes, jump in one, and proceed to try and climb our way back out of it. For if there were no holes, no jobs we hated but did anyways — nothing to make us miserable — we could just amble down the sidewalk wearing nothing but a grin. You'd look up at the sky and trees around you and your only thought would be, “Wow. This is great.” You'd think, “I'm alive, this is wonderful,” and maybe “Look at all the things I can do! I can climb a tree or run or stop or breathe through my nose.” And you'd be happy.
Most of the time we are probably happy but don't realize it. Because anyone who has been so happy that they can no longer ignore it knows what happens once it is realized. The thoughts of tomorrow suddenly show up, or the futile stretching and grasping for this feeling begins — the hope to just keep it forever. The incessant use of the internationally-known phrase “I love you” is this hope. Happiness, like the heart or the entire human body, doesn't maintain its original manifestation forever.