“I’m generally a happy person!” I told my therapist last week. And it’s true. As hard as my life can be, I really, really like it. My job, my friends, my children, my home with its terrible green carpet and aztec-inspired border in the kitchen. All of it.
“I just want to be with someone else who is happy!” I continued, referring to a series of relationships over the last year with people who were depressed and broken and depressingly broken.
“No you don’t,” she replied. She paused, which let my mind race into all sorts of different directions, like maybe I’m not really happy or maybe there’s something I’m putting into the world that’s just drawing in sad people.
Just when she saw the look of horror start to take over my face, she kept going.
“You want someone who’s content with his life. Like you.”
And then I realized that I’ve been going about it all wrong. I’ve been going about everything all wrong really. And maybe you have too. Read More