I believed that I was happy. That there was no reason why I shouldn't be unhappy. But I think I was lying in some ways to myself. I now find that we can never actually be happy. Not in absolute sense. I always felt a little dissatisfied: no matter what I did. I felt like I was always on a search for something and it was getting further away from me. I thought I didn't know what I really wanted to be or what I really wanted to do. Those were moments when I was most unhappy with myself. I would reason that I had everything but I think I always was missing something. I haven't caught hold of it yet but I think I am clearer now about the kind of path I might want to follow. And though, that is not even a work half begun, I know that is a beginning. And I am more deteremined than ever that I will never be anything more but a good human. I need not achieve anything much except little joys from having done something for someone.