I'm happy.
At least, I think I am. I'm happier than I've been in over a year, since the end of sophomore year. I was happy-ish living in Berkeley last summer, I was miserable in Munich for the first part of the year, I was somewhat happier in the spring. But I'd forgotten what it actually means to be happy.
The only explanation I can come up with is that I'm busy, and maybe the busier I am, the happier I am. I'm stressed, and occasionally the stress will override the happiness and I'll feel miserable, but that will only be in spurts; I know, because I've gone through it all before. But having things to do all the time, places to be, people to see, things to read... having all these responsibilities and things... it just makes me happy. I feel useful, and I don't mean that in a purposeful way; I mean, I'm not necessarily being useful to other people (or if I am, that's not what makes me happy). Rather, I'm using my brain capacity and my skills and abilities to do things. My mind is occupied. I'm being challenged, in lots of different ways. Suddenly my thesis is exciting rather than threatening.
And I'm happy.
Comments