Happiness is a wi-fi password

The week conquered me. Somewhat. Not enough to be devastating. But enough to feel rather tired. Making me temporarily stop listening to news podcasts.

A week of hearing about personal tragedy. Things that wear on me. I mulled, “Why does evil happen? Why does it continue?” Realizing that even the smallest attempts to bring change one day, come with other days where I’m barely able to stop dumping coffee all over myself. Screw any ability to stop the darkness.

I mulled this while doing my end-of-week writing, holed up in the coffee shop. A middle-aged hippy at an adjacent table interrupted my typing. Asked if I knew the shop’s wi-fi password. I forced regretful pleasantness, saying I didn’t know it. I returned to typing. Sorting events. Asking where the hell I fit into doing something worthwhile.

Roughly 30 minutes later, Hippy made eye contact again. He smiled and said, “Happiness.”

I jumped. He didn’t need to say more. I knew my face conveyed angst. Knew he was trying to counteract it, in the little he could. I stammered, “You’re right.”

Then we both started stammering. Each blurting what we meant to say. Neither of us doing it well. Hippy finally said, “Sorry for the non-sequitur. It’s the password. For the wi-fi. Happiness: it’s not a bad thing to pass on.”

I laughed. He was right. With one word, reminded me how little takes to chase away darkness. Some days, even a quick glimpse is as good as a long-term strategy.

“Enough of this mulling,” I said to myself. Shut down my laptop. Smiled and said goodbye to Hippy. Went outside to enjoy the sunshine.

"Happiness," by Annais Ferreira, on Creative Commons.

"Happiness," by Annais Ferreira, on Creative Commons.