Happiness is a part of my life.

A part, not the whole. That is a sturdier arrangement than it first sounds.

No life is uniformly happy, and the ones that look it from outside usually contain a difficult sibling or a bad year nobody posts about. Happiness sharing a building with grief and admin and boredom is the normal arrangement, not a failure of it. What matters is that it has a room in there, and that the room gets used. That an ordinary week contains hours which are, by any honest measure, good.

Find today's. It is probably shorter than an hour and entirely real.