·Anonymous·
We
chase
after
it，when
it
is
waiting
all
about
us.
“Are
you
happy?”I
asked
my
brother，Ian，one
day.“Yes.
No.
It
depends
on
what
you
mean，”he
said.
“Then
tell
me，”I
asked，“when
was
the
last
time
you
think
you
were
happy?”
“April
1967，”he
said.
It
served
me
right
for
putting
a
serious
question
to
someone
who
has
joked
his
way
through
life.
But
Ian’s
answer
reminded
me
that
when
we
think
about
happiness，we
usually
think
of
something
extraordinary，a
pinnacle
of
sheer
delight-and
those
pinnacles
seem
to
get
rarer
the
older
we
get.
For
a
child，happiness
has
a
magical
quality.
I
remember
making
hide-outs
in
newly
cut
hay，playing
cops
and
robbers
in
the
woods，getting
a
speaking
part
in
the
school
play.
Of
course，kids
also
experience
lows，but
their
delight
at
such
peaks
of
pleasure
as
winning
a
race
or
getting
a
new
bike
is
unreserved.
In
the
teenage
years
the
concept
of
happiness
changes.
Suddenly
it’s
conditional
on
such
things