Look, I’m no expert in happiness. I just know this: I’m grateful for my daughter Maya making me coffee every morning. Not fancy, just hot, black, and waiting on the counter when I stumble in after fixing a blown fuse at 4 a.m.
It started small—her 10-year-old hands pouring it from the pot I’d left out. I’d been so lost in my own grief, thinking I was failing her by not being “happy enough” for her. But then she’d say, “Dad, you need this,” and hand me the mug. Steam rising in the morning light.
That’s when I figured it out: happiness isn’t some big thing you chase. It’s showing up. For her. For me. It’s her small act of care cutting through the fog of my own sadness. It didn’t fix anything—my wife’s gone, and that’ll always hurt—but it gave me something to hold onto. Something to do instead of just feeling stuck.
Now? I make her coffee back. Sometimes we sit at the table, quiet, just watching the sun come up. I don’t talk about the hard stuff. I just show up. And that’s the thing I want you to know: You don’t have to be “fixed” to be loved. You don’t have to be happy to give happiness. Just do the next thing. Make the coffee. Sit with the quiet. Let someone hand you a mug. That’s how you start to breathe again.
It’s not about grand gestures. It’s about the steam rising in the morning light.
— Jimmy Hawkins, just a dad figuring it out