·Anonymous·
We chase after it，when it is waiting all about us.
“Are you happy?”I asked my brother，Ian，one day.“Yes. No. It depends on what you mean，”he said.
“Then tell me，”I asked，“when was the last time you think you were happy?”
“April 1967，”he said.
It served me right for putting a serious question to someone who has joked his way through life. But Ian’s answer reminded me that when we think about happiness，we usually think of something extraordinary，a pinnacle of sheer delight—and those pinnacles seem to get rarer the older we get.
For a child，happiness has a magical quality. I remember making hide-outs in newly cut hay，playing cops and robbers in the woods，getting a speaking part in the school play. Of course，kids also experience lows，but their delight at such peaks of pleasure as winning a race or getting a new bike is unreserved.
In the teenage years the concept of happiness changes. Suddenly it’s conditional on such things as excitement，love，popularity and whether that zit will clear up before prom night. I can still feel the agony of not being invited to a party that almost everyone else was going to. But I also recall the ecstasy of being plucked from obscurity at another event to dance with a John Travolta look-alike.
In adulthood the things that bring profound joy—birth，love，marriage also—bring responsibility and the risk of loss. Love may not last，sex isn’t always good，loved ones die. For adults，happiness is complicated.
My dictionary defines happy as“lucky”or“fortunate，”but I think a better definition of happiness is“the capacity for enjoyment.”The more we can enjoy what we have，the happier we are. It’s easy to overlook the pleasure we get from loving and being loved，the company of friends，the freedom to live where we please，and even good health.
I added up my little moments of pleasure yesterday. First there was sheer bliss when I shut the last lunch-box and had the house to my