There is a lot of happiness in wandering in the mountains, waking up at the break of day, climbing high, higher than you think you could, looking at the rocks and snow beneath your feet and at the planes down below. The mountain air is clear, the breeze is frosty in the mornings, the towns are prettier than usual, the coffee is stronger, and the stars are more visible.
After an adventure it is wonderful to go back, and look up and be in awe at how far you managed to get the day before. Seems unreal and almost impossible looking from the road that runs between the mountains. So far away from home.
There is another slice of happiness getting back home, to my data, to my work, to planting little carrots in the flower pots filled with fresh soil. Everything looks magical and filled with peaceful light when you come back from the mountains. Closest I’ve ever got to happiness.