We talk about happiness as something to “attain,” a state of being, but what is happiness, really? Are we expecting the wrong things from it? Are we using language that sets us up on a treadmill of disappointment?
Here’s a personal thing about me: when I was a teenager and younger I would sometimes find relief from my turmoil by daydreaming that my future self was visiting me to tell me everything would be fine. My future self was beautiful and healthy and told me everything would all turn out okay, and that I would be happy after all. All the details weren’t sorted out, but it was a way for me to give myself a sense of well-being.