I am happy by choice.

You cannot order a feeling the way you order a coffee. What you can do is decide what gets watered.

A gardener does not choose the rain. They choose what goes in the bed, what gets pulled out, where the light falls best. Six months later there is a garden that looks a great deal like a series of decisions.

Attention runs on the same rules. The grievance rehearsed in the shower every morning is being cultivated, whether or not anyone planted it deliberately.

Choose the bed, not the weather. That turns out to be most of it.