It seems happiness isn’t good enough anymore. No, we have to be the happiest that we can possibly imagine ourselves to be. (Or at least happier than all our pseudo-friends on Facebook.) Of course, thinking that way just makes us unhappy.
Twas a rough night sleeping across two seats on the ferry, but I’m awake at the crack and giddy like a kid at Christmas. Today is the day, three and a half years in the making. I go up on the top deck and find it empty. The helicopter pad becomes my dance floor, the wind my music, the rising sun my spotlight, and I dance the dance of a very happy man.
First in Dublin, as I was heading out the door, an old teacher bought me dinner, appearing as he never had before. I met a man in Durham, also working on a dream. Not long after he took the leap. He’s now in Medellín. I met a girl in Amsterdam, and I can’t forget her eyes. We laughed and we kissed and we rode our bikes, beneath those clear Dutch skies.
People sometimes ask if I’m doing this trip around the world without airplanes because I dislike flying. But that’s not it. Few people appreciate flying as much as I do. Or airports. Like the one I’m in now, standing at arrivals, watching families and lovers reunite. They let their guard down for a few seconds, and you can see what really matters.