The Art of Happiness

She takes a sip from her BPA free plastic water bottle, puts on some lip moisturizer, takes an Orbit chewing gum and opens an intensely used paperback somewhere in the middle. It reads The Art of Happiness. I momentarily envy her for having found that title and the state her paperback is in. I imagine picking up the story in that ragged paperback feels like lowering my buttocks down in the seat of an old but well kept leather Chesterfield chair, comfortably leaning back, sucking in peace of mind. I glance at her from my window seat 21D over to her window seat 21A which is across the aisle in the small Polish Airways aircraft that brings us from Lubljana in Slovenia via Warsaw in Poland to Amsterdam. I sit next to the love of my life after we drove around Central Europe during two weeks. The trip has been wonderful. We are very happy.

The woman’s gestures make me pick a Stimerol and put Labello on my lips before I realize it and become consciously aware of the fact that I do not really need to make these additions to my state of well being. I do not need to read about the Art of Happiness nor apply lip moisturizer. I do not care for to chew gum nor hydrate myself with purified water. I am so lucky to be happy. I am so lucky I feel blessed. And although I am curious to know what is said about The Art of Happiness, I don’t want to read about how to be happy. The woman knows about how to add fragments to her state of well being by hydrating her body with water, refreshing the taste in her mouth with chewing gum and moisturizing her lips. Don’t we all search for to feel good? Security covered, achievements fulfilled and individualism outspoken. Now what is left to be conquered is happiness.


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