Last week, I walk out of The Daily Tar Heel office and catch a glimpse of myself in the window. It's kind of frightening.
Wearing a DTH t-shirt and jean shorts. Wearing my favorite fake Jack Rogers flip flops. The silver ones. Hanging onto my laptop and carrying my Kate Spade tote full of homework and legal pads and pens and phone chargers. Because I have a lot of all of the above.
I am exhausted. I am constantly running on little sleep and lots of caffeine. I have too many commitments, or so I tell myself. I might start buying Mountain Dew by the case. Or by the truck. It just tastes so good. There are dark circles under my eyes. My hair is in a bun because I haven't washed it yet this week. And to be honest, I didn't have time to shower this morning so I probably need to do that. I'm getting ready to do a lot of homework and get not a lot of sleep and probably be really stressed out about something.
And I am happy.
I am so terribly happy.
We search and search all our lives for that one thing that brings us happiness. We spend thousands of dollars and years of our life on the hunt. We try so many different opportunities and take so many guesses — we try, we try, we try. We just want to be happy. We just want to find it. Whatever it is.
And I'm no different. I've worn so many hats, trying to find one that fit me. I've tried so many things and taken so many chances.
And I'm no different. I've worn so many hats, trying to find one that fit me. I've tried so many things and taken so many chances.
But last night I think I realized that my happiness isn't in what I would've eventually found.
It's me.
I'm not happy because I have a great boyfriend or a supportive family or an adorable corgi or good friends or a fun job. I'm not happy because I blog or watch a lot of Netflix. 
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