Lately (for the past three days), I have been asking myself a question of paramount importance.
Am I happy?
And I honestly don’t know. I can’t say “no,” immediately, but I can’t say “yes” either.
The reason I live is because I am chasing after happiness, truly. To me, happiness comes in many different forms. (One, of which, includes achieving goals and realizing dreams, just so you know).
Sometimes I fear that I will never achieve happiness; that I will spend the rest of my life; all of eternity chasing after that which cannot be attained.
But there is no other way for me than to try, no, to do all in my power to grasp it.
After reading The Great Gatsby and doing so much analysis of it, I cannot help but relate to Gatsby, the man himself. And what was he doing…he was chasing after the green light, Daisy, his dream, the American dream.
The dream—his dream—the American dream, whichever one it is—it represented not just a desire, but also the underlying emotions that go into it. (I can’t think of a better way to say that, but it does sound strange, no?) This dream is fueled by an untarnished optimism—a burning hope in us that cannot ever be crushed and diminished, no matter how many setbacks we encounter, no matter what the precedents. We will always think that there will be tomorrow—that tomorrow—”…we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…”
I will always chase after happiness, dreams, and everything in between.