Happiness.

hap·pi·ness [hap-ee-nis] —Synonyms 1, 2. pleasure, joy, exhilaration, bliss, contentedness, delight, enjoyment, satisfaction.

I'm blogging on the subway, or rather, I'm "drafting" a blog in my blackberry in between 125th and 86th Streets. I was walking from the Metro North stop to the subway station when it hit me... I am happy. I'm listening to a happy song on my ipod. Maybe this helps. Or maybe it was all of the incense that I am forced to inhale walking down the street (there are a lot of incense vendors in Harlem for some reason).

My life is far from perfect. I don't do a lot of things as often as I normally should and I don't posses a lot of the qualities I tend to envy. My skin is less than flawless, my hair gets frizzy in the summer, I only pretend to be a real runner and the pencil skirt I'm wearing today makes me look more like a pear than a writing utensil. But today- I don't care. Like I said- I'm happy. I get to visit my family this summer. The tickets are purchased and I am going home. For NINE days. That will be my longest trip home in over two years. I can't wait to see my family. They are doing good things. All of them. My siblings are good parents, world travelers, faithful missionaries, and even better friends. My parents are brilliant, supportive and involved in my life. I appreciate this. I really like my family.

My friends are great. They are smart and driven, good mothers, creative and unique individuals. I really like my friends. My best friend is getting married, and I am giddy with happiness for her. I want to plan the best bridal shower ever for August when I go home. It makes me happy to party-plan, but even happier that Alissa has found her "person".

When I was passing through the Bronx on the train, I saw in the distance two young looking men in white shirts, ties, black name tags, and backpacks walking down a somewhat sketchy looking street. Missionaries. I just about cried thinking of my little brother working so hard. I'm happy that I have something to hang on to that is so real. I'm really grateful for my faith. I don't mind being unique in this city. I love it, actually. It makes me happy, genuinely.

I love my commute. I crave the time on the train, the quietness, the time to be alone and annonymous. I love my job. I went to bed a little anxious last night, a little nervous about the responsibility that is now placed on my shoulders, about everything I had to accomplish today. Mike pointed out that I should always feel this ache, because it means that I am stretching and growing. It's always good to be slightly uncomfortable I suppose. But really-the job is great, the people I work with are lovely, and it's nice to be in Greenwich during the day and the city at night and on the weekends. The balance is perfect. I'm happy to be in a place, professionaly, that is exactly what I wanted.

My husband is really nice. I like him a lot, too. He’s my “person” (I’m clearly craving a good Grey’s Anatomy episode tonight). He doesn’t complain (very much) when I ask him to make sure that the photo boxes in our living hutch are equidistant apart. He scratches my back every time I ask (every single night), and he never yells back. He’s just a really good person. I want to be more like him. He makes me happy. Yup. I feel pretty good today.