My bare feet hit the cold, hard ground. My heart pounds. I glance at my competitors and grin. I
am exactly where I belong. The front runner. The finish line is in sight. Just a few more feet. You
can take a deep breath when you’re done, I tell myself. You have to finish strong.
Then, just as victory seems within reach, I see it. The finish line shifts, moving farther and
farther away until it disappears into the horizon. My heart sinks. This time was supposed to be
different. I thought I had it. I finally allow myself a breath. Just once. Leaving just enough time
for my competitors to pass me. I blow my lead. I’m not proud of it, but I needed air. The finish
line is always moving.
I do feel fulfilled, but only in fleeting moments. Only for the feeling to slip away as quickly as it
came. My cup has a tendency to empty the second my apartment door chain slides into place.
Maybe I’m a willing prisoner in a cage of my own making. Maybe it’s all in my head. But at
night, the bars press against my fragile chest as I stare at the ceiling, my mind buzzing with what
I could be, should be, must be doing. My days are fine, but my nights are spent yearning for a
fulfillment that always feels just out of reach.
Fifteen-year-old me would think I already have everything she ever wanted: New York City, a
beautiful apartment, a rescued cat, incredible friends, college. But the moment I arrived at my
destination, my dreams evolved. I spent my long, dark winters waiting for the summer sun and
then complained about the broiling heat.
It’s a cruel cycle, an endless game of catch-up. By the time we grasp what we once longed for,
we’ve already set our sights on something new. And while we may hate to admit it, the success
of others casts shadows on our own, leaving us caught between envy and the quiet wish to
disappear.
For the longest time, I thought it was just me. That I was uniquely incapable of contentment and
cursed with perpetual dissatisfaction. But maybe it's a plague we all share in our society obsessed
with perfectionism. We’ve framed “happiness” as life’s great achievement, the final prize at the
end of the race. We chase it tirelessly, convinced that once we reach a certain milestone, we will
finally be happy. That pursuit is often fruitless. Because happiness, in the way we’ve been taught
to seek it, does not exist.
And yet, I am happy.
I am happy when sunlight spills through my bedroom window, warming my skin. I am happy
when my cat falls asleep in my arms, his tiny breaths rising and falling against me. I am happy
when laughter brings tears to my eyes, when I bicker with my family over board games, when I
find myself so lost in a moment that I fail to notice it slipping away.
I like to think of happiness as a flicker in your eye that you can't see unless you gaze into your
own reflection. Something beautiful that exists in a fleeting moment—one we often fail to
appreciate because of its transience and our lack of perspective. But just because you can't see it
doesn't mean it's not there. It exists in the quiet, the ordinary, the in between. And maybe, just
maybe, learning to see it and to appreciate it in its brief, beautiful flashes, is the closest we will
ever get to holding it.
Yours truly,
Kacie Lemos
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