I have a patient who keeps asking me the same question every time he sees me: Why are you always so happy? At first, I didn't give it much thought and shrugged off his question jokingly with a wink-- It's those happy pills, I tell ya! But when he persisted with it consult after consult, it seemed to me that happiness is almost like an elusive trophy in life that everyone is in pursuit of-- even at the ripe old age of 75.
I wasn't always this happy. In fact, there was a time when I yearned to be happy. I didn't want to be plagued by periods of melancholy, nor by pieces of self-doubt and threads of uncertainty. I wanted my life to be one big happy bubble. So I travelled. On an epidermal level, I travelled because I wanted to explore the world, to see new sights, and to discover new experiences. Yet, when I think about it, all that travelling had stemmed from one fundamental self-interest: the thirst for happiness.
When I travel, I am a stranger to the world. I know no one, and I know nothing. I have no weight on my shoulders, and I feel lighter than my suitcase. The further away from my troubles, the happier I'd be. Ultimately, I found it in Spain, in Barcelona. And all that unhappiness dissolved into obsolescence.