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| Credit: http:// chalkwhitearrow.com |
A few years ago, I was traveling to Toronto by bus. I was on my way back to books and classes at the university. I dreaded going back to school. I whined and complained to myself that I was not ready to go back to school. After a while, I got tired of my own whining and closed my eyes. I tried to enjoy the ride, but let's be honest: it is very hard to enjoy a ride on a Greyhound bus. I still had a few hours before I arrived at my destination, and I felt suffocated with the misery of my thoughts and the horrible smell in the bus. It was also quite surprising that I could hear my own thoughts amidst the snores, people speaking loudly on the phone and the background music. It was pandemonium.
Happiness did not knock at my door on that day. It texted me. It texted me the way we nowadays text our friends when we are outside of their place: “Did you get to read the book?” Huh? The book. Oh, yes, the book. I had totally forgotten about it. A couple of weeks before, my friend Julia had lent me her copy of the Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project. She insisted I read her new favourite book. I obliged her invitation. I fumbled my way through a reply and let her know I was in the process of reading it: I had the book with me, and that was the first part in the process of reading the book. I was hesitant, but I took the book out of my bag and stared at it. I was filled with tedium just by looking at the book's cover: “Gosh, blue and yellow don't really go well together unless you are Argentinian, Ukrainian or from Kazakhstan; then they look wonderful together.”
