Happiness doesn’t make sense

Why exactly am I so content with my life?

When I look back to my days with depression, I always thought back then that I would have to make complete turnaround, become rich, seduce women and have a huge social circle to become happy.

I got more depressed because I thought all of those would be impossible to do.

The way I’m currently living isn’t anything special. Compared to a lot of people, it’s probably mundane as hell.

And yet I’ve never felt as good about my life as this year.

From there I got into a loose conclusion: Happiness doesn’t make sense.

Those things that I described earlier: money, women, huge social circle. Those things make sense.Maybe it’s some sort of analogy of life itself.

We are born to this rock that is flying through the space, only to fuck and create more little monkeys.

It really puts things into right context.

We are so obsessed with our daily stuff that we fail to realize that nothing really makes sense. We just think it does.

Everyone has their own formula for happiness, mine is (roughly!) this:

  1. Get rid of all the negative shit
  2. Do life-enhancing things, read life-enhancing books and surround yourself with life-enhancing influences (influences on the internet/books work fine, fyi)
  3. Try everything out
  4. Do what you like

The first point is the most important one and set base for life that I could enjoy.

You can’t feel good if you are surrounded by shit. You might even be addicted to it (news?).

I can imagine asking the question “what makes you happy?” from someone else and they can only explain the most ordinary things about their lives.

Because that’s all that it requires.


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