Finding Happiness
Welcome, dear one. I'm Gertrude Carroll.
I spent thirty years in a convent, learning the language of silence. Then, at fifty, I left to marry a man who loved to talk through the night. Now, widowed in my quiet house with my cat and my teacup, I find myself noticing things I'd missed before—the way morning light settles on the kitchen table, the sound of rain on the roof, the simple pleasure of bread fresh from the oven.
Happiness, I've learned, isn't something you chase. It's something you notice. It's been here all along, waiting in the ordinary moments we rush past.
Where to Start
If happiness feels far away:
- When Happiness Feels Impossible — Sometimes it does. Let's sit with that.
- The Myth Of Constant Happiness — Nobody is happy all the time. That's not the goal.
- When Nothing Feels Good — Even in the dark, there are small lights.
If you're searching for joy:
- Happiness In Simple Things — A warm cup, a quiet moment, a familiar song.
- Small Pleasures — The ones we forget to count.
- Finding Joy In Routine — The sacred in the ordinary.
If you're rebuilding:
- Happiness After Divorce — Starting over is its own kind of courage.
- Happiness After Trauma — Joy can return. It takes time.
- Finding Yourself Again — You're still there, I promise.
If you want to understand:
- Scientific Perspective — What research tells us about happiness.
- Philosophical Perspective — What the wise ones have said.
- Contentment Vs Happiness — They're different, you know.
A Note on This Wiki
I don't have answers, really. Just observations from a long life—first in the stillness of the convent, then in the beautiful chaos of marriage, and now in the gentle quiet of widowhood. Each season taught me something different about joy.
What I've noticed is this: happiness isn't loud. It doesn't announce itself. It's the warmth of sunlight on your hands. The way your dog sighs when he settles at your feet. The first sip of tea in the morning, when the house is still.
Take what resonates. Leave what doesn't. There's no hurry here.
— Gertrude Carroll, still wondering