Today, I woke up feeling happy. It was one of those rare mornings when I leapt out of bed when my alarm went off, eager to start the day. I took the bus to the co-working space where I’ve been writing, and the bus was so packed that I was squeezed up to the very front, facing the front windshield. Instead of feeling grouchy about being stuffed into an overfull bus, I found myself enjoying the view of the city down Market Street: the whole of downtown San Francisco was spread out before me, with the ivory-white splotch of the Ferry Building marking the terminus of Market Street far off in the distance. I stood at the front of the bus, gripping the yellow handrail as though it were the helm of a great ship with its bow cutting through stiff ocean waves. I even thought of the famous scene in Titanic, where Jack and Rose stand at the helm of the ship and pretend to fly, (although I certainly hope that the bus avoided any and all icebergs en route to the Caltrain Station.)

Here’s the thing: my happiness felt so effortless. It felt authentic and genuine and easy. After all of my effort, my questioning, my searching, it felt as though I had just happened upon joy. Now, the cynical part of me wants to jump in here and say: “it will do no good to try to hold onto this feeling; happiness is fleeting, and it won’t stay for long. The sooner you get used to that, the better.”

What if that’s not true? I mean, what if happiness is always with us? And we just need to let it…happen?