When I was in my twenties, I wrote a happiness list. I remember clearly writing the list and believing once I attained those things, I would feel content and free to enjoy life.
I’m embarrassed to tell you everything I put on the list.
It seems so materialistic to me now.
But let’s just say it included a particular type of car, a certain sized house, the decor to fill the rooms of the house, and other stuff I believed reflected success and happiness.
As time went on, I was able to check off many of the items on my list.
For a short while, the attainment of one of these items brought me happiness.
But over time, the shine and sparkle wore off, and I grew bored and restless again. I kept repeating this pattern, moving the bar of happiness farther and farther out in hopes that some “thing” or success would fulfill my longing.