I've always had trouble with defining happiness or how to determine if I am happy, a common problem for one who grows up in the capital of over-analyzing the emotion and basing all life's success on whether or not we are happy.
What I've found, in living in other countries or looking at family and friends who have obviously mastered the thing, is that definition has more to do with it than anything else and too often people in the US have created unrealistic expectations for themselves.
As I've traveled I've recognized specifics that have made me incredibly happy, if only for the few days surrounding the experience. One is the people I meet, though I often become sad when we part ways after a few days of adventuring together.
The one concrete happening that has never failed me yet, and been tested in "Real Life" back in the States, continues here on the road, too: wearing through my clothes.
I love giving my underpants a full life and ditching them when the ventilation outweighs the practical purpose of covering my bum.
I get my kicks from seeing the soles of my shoes bordering pure slippery sheets of rubber, allowing me first to slide down the well-worn stone streets of South America and then to leave them in a bin on some street corner.
And more than anything, I love that a pair of pants I've worn teaching in Spain, traveling Europe, waitressing in Maine, and on at least 50 of the last 60 days backpacking Argentina, Chile, and Peru finds their final resting place in Lima.
If that doesn't make someone happy, I'm not sure what will.
Before I come home I have at least two other articles of clothing I expect won't leave the country, and when it happens, I hope you'll all be able to picture how big my smile is.
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