Over the summer I realized that, maybe, I obsess over my own sadness too much. This was not apparent to me because I laugh often; I am an optimist; I take joy in little things. But I also read journal entries from my low points in life, listen to sad music, and tear up a lot.
For a long time, I’ve thought that it wouldn’t be that tragic if my adulthood is luckluster, because my childhood was so bright and rich. As Charlotte Bronte wrote, “I believe in some blending of hope and sunshine sweetening the worst lots.” And so I don’t seek out constant gladness: I just try to take care of myself while having opportunities that are so full of pure concentrated happiness that they counteract some of the gloomier parts of my life. Continue reading