What Is Your Idea of Perfect Happiness? in Daily Writing

Perfect happiness is a difficult term to define. It largely depends on your idea of perfection, and that can vary as much as the idea of happiness can. For me, the only kind of perfect is imperfect perfection. I don’t to hit a point where nothing exists but ultimate bliss because nothing lasts. However, I can see myself having a life where I’m perfectly content with everything I have.

I know contentment isn’t the same as happiness, not if you ask your average person. Contentment seems like a lesser term, something that implies it’s good enough, but I don’t want to necessarily be happy. It’s such an empty term to me. It’s a term that implies sunshine and roses, but none of the thorns or the sickness and migraines from the heat and light. I prefer to be content, that point at which I sit there thinking, “Yeah, I could do this for the rest of my life.” Those moments haven’t always come from expected places.

For example, perfect contentment is laying on my boyfriend’s chest or lap, drowsy and distracted, only half-watching whatever is on the television. He strokes my hair and I sigh, feeling calm, safe, and at peace. He’ll make some comment and laugh, but gently so he doesn’t disturb me too much, and I’ll mumble something in response that he has to ask me to repeat because I’ve got my sleepy voice going. He’ll ask if I want to go to bed, but I’d mutter that I’m comfortable and that will be how we pass the time.

Perfect contentment is snuggling up in blankets in my car, insulation up on the windows, watching YouTube or listening to a podcast while coloring a picture on my phone until I drift lazily off to sleep. Ideally I’d have more padding than I have down in my car now, and a vetter pollow. I’d have a better set up to block out the light, and some kind of charging solution that would keep me going so I could more easily access wi-fi when I wake up to do some work. I’d have a handful of snacks, and I’d know that I could grab something warm to eat. It’s just a short hop away.

It’s sitting on the porch, listening to the rain fall down on the roof above me, while curled up in something warm with a cup of tea and a good book or a podcast and some sewing. The leaves of the tree just off the porch would jump and dance with each droplet, twisting to let the water run down to the ground below. Maybe there would be cookies as well, or a brownie, something still warm from the oven.

There’s riding on a trail through the woods, or hiking, with someone I care about, in someplace safe, chatting and listening to the sounds of nature around me. I love riding in particular as it’s easier on my body and the gentle rocking of the horse as it walks over the ground provides another level to soothe my brain. It’s claming and peaceful.

None of these are earth shattering experiences. They’re nothing special, nothing to write home about. They’re the simple things in life, something average that speaks to the simplicity of daily life. That’s where my heart is, in the simple things.