Sometimes, life feels too good. Too great, too ideal, too perfect and after initial appreciation, I grow fearful, agitated and consequently, ashamed. Now, please don’t mistake this for arrogance, but at 27, I am quite enamored with the life I call mine. That’s a big statement for someone as unbalanced and as prone to melancholy as me. Most of my early twenties I wrestled through weak attempts at adult behaviour, falling flat broke or lovesick or too drunk or too much this or not enough that. And while this year has undulated through highs with equally intense lows, I’ve managed to stay faithfully in love with the things I do on a daily basis that form my life so-to-speak. I work a lot but ultimately, my job is regularly a hysterically fun, creatively fulfilling one. My house, a mansion it is not, but sometimes I’ll sit on the kitchen counter and marvel at the simple fact that I’ve managed to own a refrigerator and the sofa across the room, that’s mine too and wow, these things that felt so far away are right here in front of me to stare at while I sip coffee in nothing but my socks. Even when it comes to the content I share online, I used to, for years, struggle endlessly, the photographs I’d shoot didn’t match up with what I mentally imagined and knew they could be. So I’d re-take and re-shoot myself into a frustrated circle. That doesn’t happen anymore, I’ve finally developed a photo taking capability I’m happy with and my work flows somewhat seamlessly now. The relationship I’m in currently? Here is this man who doesn’t scorn my instabilities or get angry when I’m always at least 10 minutes late, he seems to quite enjoy me without enforcing the rather typical man trait of attempting to change me. I actually adore him. Or other times, straight out of the shower, I won’t shudder when I catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror, and this feels miraculous to me; I’ve been very candid about the body image storms I’ve tumbled through time and time again. And perhaps all these tiny advancements in my life, that to others might seem unworthy of self-congratulation signify just how immature and confused I’ve been for the majority of my life, in many ways I still am. And that’s where the agitation and fear come in, I feel happy and then simultaneously wonder if I’m too easily pleased and what will happen if all these things that bring me ease suddenly vanish? I feel sad so often, that when I don’t, I’m practically screaming from my balcony with joy, like LOOK at ME, I genuinely feel as giddy happy as everyone on instagram seems to be! And then after this anxiety comes the shame, because here I am, enjoying life and yet simultaneously trying to pull it down with these counter emotions that follow me like a shadow. Last Friday night, I, without reason burst into tears at my boyfriend’s house, and when I look back on the teary haze, I was just scared that he would go away, and in that fear, perhaps part of me was trying to reach that conclusion before he beat me to it. It’s all utterly ridiculous, I am insane. But maybe and I say this with hope, there is a lesson in my emotional mess. Firstly, whatever you are struggling through this week, today, an hour ago…it will eventually, evaporate away. We are indeed like wine and we just get better with age, hold on to that thought whenever you feel lost or frustrated or crying into a box of brownies. And secondly, happiness isn’t a guarantee, life is chaotic, constantly churning a kaleidoscope of emotions right through us. SO when you do feel that easy, light contentment; indulge it, celebrate it. No joy is too small to revere. If you are happy, say it, sing it, go get 6 glasses of wine with your best friend. Be sure to honour the emotion in it’s simplest form, don’t cast a shadow over it in fear or anxiety. Life is too short for those sorts of silly complications, but isn’t that the irony of complications? They are so easy to create. It’s harder to simplify. I hope you honour the simplicity in your happiness. We both should.