What exactly does it mean to be happy? Is it a feeling? Is it an emotion? Are feelings and emotions even the same thing? Is it a disposition, or an outlook? A state of being? Is it a perspective? Is it foundational, or is it a moment in time?

I keep coming back to a distinct memory as a child, observing adults around me and being perplexed by the observed "baggage" that they would carry with them day in and out. Finding my place in the world, I grew into my 20s and my ego arrogantly scoffed with pride at the idea of adult "emotional baggage", holding myself above other adults who so-called "simply refuse to let go".

But progressing into my 30s, I began to feel that weight. And then late into my 30s, that weight and baggage only became heavier and heavier.

What I didn't realize when I was younger, is that the emotional baggage is not simply just regret. To some that might be true, but the baggage I've continued to put on stems from the complexity of deliberating how to show up; how to show up for the ones I love: my family, my friends, my community, as well as myself.

It seems the art of growing older goes beyond the loss of happiness, but rather being able to transform its definition to hold many more complexities that hold true. I can hold sadness – not as a "negative" emotion, but rather as a processing that allows me to recognize how I want to show up for the people I love. I can hold guilt – which converts into strength when I take action on something that signals meaning to my values.

The goal of adulthood isn't to become happy – it's to increase the capacity to understand the depths and complexities of experiences that make up our humanity.

I suppose we can attempt to purge this baggage full of guilt, regret, and sorrow – but like with any beautiful art, it's these stories that reveal what we wish to express and how we wish to show up for the world as we attempt to navigate our own selves.

Perhaps emotional minimalism isn't possible – without reducing our experiences of life into something so simplified it becomes basic and lacks depth.

Perhaps I need to make space within to organize these into shelves, as a neat library to learn from and incorporate into a broader picture of how I understand the world.

To continuously study, self-reflect, in hope that whatever sense-making that happens within could provide effective for those I care about around me.