Happiness is my birthright.

Watch a nine-month-old laugh at a door being opened and closed. She has achieved nothing. No qualifications, no productivity, no good week behind her.

Somewhere between then and now most people start quietly invoicing themselves for it. Happiness after the deadline, after the weight comes off, after things settle down. It turns into a wage rather than a condition.

A birthright is not a wage. It arrived with you and does not check your output.

You do not have to feel good today. But you are allowed to, at four in the afternoon, for no reason, with the work unfinished.