What is Happiness to you?

“I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.” — Agatha Christie

For a long time, I thought happiness was something I’d finally reach when life fell into place. I imagined it as a destination — the moment I had it all figured out. A career I loved. Financial freedom. A big circle of friends. A partner who would choose me, love me. I thought happiness meant piecing together the broken parts of my family until they resembled something whole.

I looked for happiness in the lives around me. In the way people laughed easily, in their endless photos surrounded by friends, in the love stories that seemed effortless. But the truth is, you can’t really know from the outside. A picture can tell you nothing about what’s real. So what is pure unrelenting happiness?

Much like healing, I think we’ve begun to see happiness through a distorted lens—shaping expectations of what it should look like, what it should feel like, instead of allowing it to simply be.

What I’ve come to learn is that happiness rarely arrives in the way we expect. It doesn’t announce itself loudly. It doesn’t arrive all at once. Most of the time, it’s quiet. Subtle. Almost invisible, unless you’re paying attention.

It’s in solitude that feels soft instead of heavy. It’s in the comfort of your own company, when you stop needing the noise of others to prove you belong.

For me, it’s in writing. Sitting in a cafe with nothing but a notebook, the world around me dissolves. Hours pass without me noticing. The clinking of cups, the chatter, the footsteps moving in and out — they fade until I can’t hear them. I fall so deeply into what I’m writing that time stops existing. There’s no past, no future — only that page, those words, that moment. And in that stillness, I feel a kind of peace I’ve been searching for my whole life. That, to me, is happiness.

It’s also in the rare friendships that bring me back to myself. The ones who make me laugh so hard my stomach hurts. Who remind me what it feels like to play, to be light, to feel free.

It’s in the simple beauty of a day ending — the sky dimming as the last light slips away. It’s in open fields, the scent of summer grass, the kind of silence that doesn’t demand anything from you.

But most of all, happiness is the way I’ve learned to love myself. To stop waiting for someone else to hand me proof that I am worthy. To stop needing love as validation. Instead, I’ve found love within myself — steady, grounding, whole. And from that place, love from others becomes something extra, not something you depend on.

So I’ll ask you: What is happiness to you?

Maybe it’s the feel of cool sheets at the end of a long day, or the sound of rain on a window. Maybe it’s the quiet hum of a familiar street, or a friend’s voice that makes you smile. Maybe it’s a walk through empty streets, the taste of something simple, or a moment of stillness that makes you breathe a little easier. Or maybe it’s something only you can name.

And maybe that’s the point. Happiness isn’t a place we arrive at, or a prize we earn. It’s the quiet notice of life happening around us — in moments we often overlook. A warm cup of tea. A smile from a stranger. A few minutes to breathe, to write, to simply be.

So take a moment. Look for the stillness, the joy tucked in the ordinary. You might already be living it without even realising. And if you are, hold it gently. Let it grow. Let it find its way into every corner of your life.

Because happiness isn’t something you chase. It’s something you allow yourself to feel.

Here’s something I want you to take away: start each day with one small win. Not a monumental achievement, not a life-changing goal—just one tiny thing that brings a spark to your heart.

My friends and I recently discovered this little practice: whenever one of us isn’t feeling quite ourselves, we send each other a list of little things to find during the day—like a big man walking a tiny dog, a heart-shaped reflection in a window, or a busker in the streets playing a certain instrument. These little challenges aren’t about perfection or checking boxes—they’re about purposefully looking for joy, for curiosity, for small sparks that remind you the world is full of wonder.

And the magic is in the noticing. When you find that one thing—whether it’s on your walk, your run, or even just out the window—it changes your mindset. It reminds you that happiness isn’t waiting at the finish line; it’s in the small moments you choose to see.

So here’s my challenge to you: every morning, make your list. And throughout the day, look for those tiny sparks. Notice them. Let them lift your heart. One small win at a time, one gentle discovery at a time, and you’ll find the world opening up in ways you never expected.