The question people ask me most nowadays is this: “Are you happy?”

Sometimes the question is slightly longer:

“Are you happy… now that you’ve moved?”

“Are you happy… finally being in the same city as Gradon?”

“Are you happy… at your new job?”

“Are you happy… living in Boston?”

I always answer, “Yes” (or something equally favorable.) It seems like people see happy as an “if… then” kind of proposition, which is why they ask those types of questions. If you’ve gotten something you wanted, you must be happy… right? Or (ding! ding! ding!) they’re just making conversation.

Still.

It gets me thinking.

I, like most folks, too often see happiness as a sort of cumulative results thing: what you become when your plans bear real fruit, when you’re actually enjoying what you’ve worked for, when there is less stress and more peace.

In other words, when everything works out.

I know that’s not quite right, of course. Happy is something you can be in the midst of plans and work, before the results are in.

Some people consider happiness to be more of a choice than a reward — after all, if your happiness depends on everything going just the way you want it to go, you’re never going to be happy. Choose to be happy, and you will be.

I was actually raised with the notion that happy was a sort of empty goal — a temporary state that was too dependent on circumstances. Joy should be the goal — to have peace and grace and contentment in every state, no matter what life hands you.

But then you’re getting into personal definitions of words… which is ultimately the path to confusion. I’m a writer. I end up on that path all the time.

So back to happy.

I’ve gotten to the point where I’m either afraid to say I’m not happy (lest people think I don’t stand behind my choices, or that something is particularly wrong) or that I am happy (lest people think I have accomplished everything to my satisfaction, and I’m coasting on waves of bliss.)

Kind of obnoxious, no?

But, again, my need to qualify that YES, I AM GLAD I have done the things I’ve done and NO, IT’S NOT PERFECT JUST YET goes way beyond the kind of depth anyone is going for when they ask if I’m… happy.

So why do I make everything so complicated?

Oh, wait… because it IS complicated.

But it’s never going to NOT be complicated, so how do I answer the happiness question for myself?

Here’s how:

Moving to Boston to be in the same city with the man I love and his family was absolutely the right call. Being in his presence is delightful. I feel secure and content and loved. I can’t believe I found someone who makes me laugh every day, and accepts me physically even when I do not accept what I see in the mirror. And Ethan and Devon are both amazing kids. Love is everywhere I look.

Does that mean it’s not an adjustment? No way. Does that mean we never argue? No way. Does that mean that it’s not stressful to blend two lives that previously operated quite independently? No way. Does that mean I crave the sounds of the Playstation from 6:45 am onward when teenagers are near? No way (though their play by play is not to be missed, and it’s just like the vuvuzela — only irritating if you decide it’s irritating.)

But I have no doubt in my mind that I made the right call.

Taking on a job that stretches me in some new directions to work alongside a group of incredibly bright, motivated people was a no-brainer. Every day I get up knowing that I’m proud to do what I’m doing, and that I’m proud of who I’m doing it for.

Does that mean that I don’t loathe the fact that my commute varies wildly from 40 minutes to an hour and a half? No way. Does that mean that PowerPoint doesn’t make me want to claw my own eyes out every time I use it? No way. Does that mean that I don’t hate making rookie mistakes and not conquering the learning curve in the first week (month, two months…)? No way. Does that mean that my own perfectionism gets decidedly albatross-esque at times? No way.

But I have no doubt in my mind that I made the right call.

Leaving your parents behind to pursue your own life is something every single one of us does, unless we’re incapable of leaving for some reason, or we need additional care to make it through. My parents left their parents, just like their parents before them. Lots of people go months or years without seeing their immediate family because of where they go to follow love or work. The luxury of making your life happen in close proximity to family isn’t one all of us have (and frankly, not something a lot of people even want.) Though I love my parents and love being near them, I am confident the reasons I’ve put these miles between us were the right ones, and that my relationship with my family carries on at any distance.

Does that mean I didn’t cry like a fire sprinkler when I left them at the airport? No way. Does that mean that I don’t feel badly that they miss me, and hate to live so far from their kids? No way. Does that mean I don’t miss them stopping by with groceries or treats or just to say hello? No way. Does that mean that texts and emails from home don’t sometimes make me verklempt out of nowhere? No way. Does that mean I don’t wish they could spend more time with the man I’d love so they’d be even more at peace with the reason I picked up and left everything 3,000 miles behind me? No way.

But I have no doubt in my mind I made the right call.

Coming into a brand new community of friends and associates has provided me with new possibilities, new ideas and new people to learn about and enjoy. I really feel a strong sense of connection with people I’ve only known a few days at a time, or in the space of a couple months here. I’m excited to learn more about them, and spend more time with them.

Does that mean I don’t miss the friends who get exactly who I am without me explaining myself? No way. Does that mean that I feel acceptance from every single person who called Gradon a friend before I rolled into town? No way. Does that mean it’s not tough to break into a new city, or establish relationships out of thinnish air? No way. Does that mean everyone is going to like me? No way.

But I have no doubt in my mind that I made the right call.

And then there’s the details: am I thrilled we’re going to stay in a pretty small apartment for another year as we officially begin our lives together (so we can save for something bigger)? Eh. Am I thrilled I can’t afford to bring everyone together that I’d like to see when we make this thing legal? Eh. Am I thrilled that the economy has left Gradon with some frustrating and ongoing employment woes? Eh. Am I thrilled that the costs of getting established have meant lots of sacrifices and postponements of stuff and things? Eh. Am I thrilled with every part of learning how a new city works? Eh.

Those things get me down sometimes. They do. Sometimes, they even make me unhappy — and that feeling is decidedly unambiguous.

Still, the sense of knowing I am walking down the right path, even with bumps and twists and holes and sudden storms and bleak spots, is a much bigger feeling than “happy”. It’s a feeling that isn’t dependent on results or ease or calm or simplicity or doing everything I want to be doing. It’s a feeling that transcends bills and crappy commuting and wanting a bigger work wardrobe and cursing dull knives when I’m making dinner. It’s a feeling that can’t be summed up in a quick response to an offhand, cocktail party question about my well-being, nor should it be, nor does anyone expect it to be.

It’s certainty, which I’ve never felt before to this extent.

Regardless of everything that tries in vain to chip away at it.

Regardless of everything that does or doesn’t go according to plan.

And that certainty — along with the immense drive that accompanies it — leaves “happy” in the dust.

Up until 2007, I didn’t know many people personally who were in New York during the 9/11 attacks, or anyone who lost a friend or family member that day.

Now I know several.

Their stories are humbling and shocking and painful in ways that I can’t begin to put into words.

So what I’ll do is say thank you to the people that stepped up to help in the aftermath, and to the people who continue to cherish and share the memories of those they lost, eight years ago today.

And I will never forget.

I’ve never understood the “relationship break”.

Well, no… that’s not quite right.

I DO understand why people occasionally need a bit of space from one another, and how a little time apart can provide perspective/make the heart grow fonder/allow blood pressure to drop. Walk away when you feel like fighting now and then. Take a day where you chat on the phone but don’t spend the whole day in one another’s face.

Fair.

But people who feel they can improve how they communicate by ceasing to communicate for a randomly selected period of time confuse me.

Perhaps this is because the worst of my relationships needed a hell of a lot more distance than a “break” might provide (perhaps a giant wall, a la Berlin? China?), and the best of them has grown in awesomeness from a distance of 3,000 miles.

Once, in the middle of an argument, I asked Gradon if he needed space from me.

He replied, “What, I would need something more than a continent?”

Exactly.

I feel the same way about people who go “off coffee” for a period, even though I have done it once in a bid to see if my insomnia was caffeine-fueled (because if you can’t hack caffeine, you can’t hack it, and you should know if that’s the case, and stop forever) and once on a dare for Lent (I was fine.) Or if you find yourself vibrating in place after consuming an entire pot in the morning and need to slow it down, then sure.

Cut back. Get some caffeine perspective. Work it out.

But these people quit… temporarily. They don’t totally “break up” with coffee, they just decide that they won’t email or text or IM with it for a while, just because coffee is “bad”.

It might be for a week, or a month, just because they don’t like the idea of being “addicted” to something, as though coffee were something you injected after heating it up in a spoon. Then they hop back on the train, amazed at their self control and liberation from dependence… and celebrate it with a Venti.

(Yes, I know there is such a thing as caffeine addiction, after you build up a tolerance and want more and more and more to get that “awake” feeling back. But the hold on your system disappears in anywhere from one to five days. Done. Try kicking crack like that. I think you’ll find it’s a touch different than walking past Starbucks without going in for a week.)

Here’s the thing: if it’s bad now, why would you stop, then start again? If you figure out you don’t want it or need it… why bring it on back?

Wouldn’t it just be better to fix your relationship with it — if you reduce intake, your tolerance adjusts — or quit it altogether? Permanently?

It’s just like health fasts that people go on to “detox” — and then start eating Big Macs again the week after their cleanse is over.

If it’s bad, it’s bad. Be done with it!

If it’s not great, fix it. Find a balance. In coffee, diet, relationships, internet consumption, whatever.

But I don’t think ignoring something for a little while is much of a fix. Especially when you welcome it back with open arms right when things actually start to improve, or when you’ve proven you can do without it.

There’s no point in proving that unless that’s what you want. Or else you’re David Blaine, testing your body for fun.

Am I wrong?