So I have been on the pursuit of happiness for some time now. I have been bulldozing through my life and uprooting all that is not good enough. It is a blind faith that has no real direction but instinct. You have no idea what the future will hold, but you trust that there is something better.

Over the course of my recent trip to Portugal, happiness manifested itself in various forms. It was something as simple as sunshine on my face and blue skies with no clouds in sight. Or discovering new places and being taken aback by their beauty. To continuing down an unknown path only to discover one of the most amazing surprises at the end, like a gorgeous sunset overlooking Lisbon and one of the best wine bars I have ever experienced.

 

It has been meeting new people who are kind when I am feeling lonely, like the two Belgians that shared breakfast with me, or Mr. João, at O João‘s restaurant in Lagos who beheaded and deboned my fish, and shared his memories of traveling to the States.

It has been something as simple as having a really great meal, a great glass of wine, or tea and strawberries with whipped cream, while enjoying an amazing view, and realizing that I had nowhere else to be except for a date with my book in that moment.

But I did not witness what I would call “pure happiness” until I was in the waiting room of the private hospital of Lagos, after my fragile spine had been thrown out again.

I was surrounded by elderly couples all sitting together patiently waiting their turn. They were all accompanied by their loved one. None of them was alone. The fear and anxiety in their eyes was shared, as was the anticipation for the doctor’s news.

There was one man standing by himself, pacing a little back and forth. I tried to strike up a conversation with him to ask how long the wait would be. He asked me if it was my first time there, as if frequenting the Lagos private hospital was the normal thing to do. When I said yes, he said that typically the wait could be quite long, since this was the hospital where the British retirees go. Then that was the end of the conversation. He went back to reading his phone, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t seem to be present again until his wife came back out and the other half of him seemed to have found itself.

There was also one woman sitting by herself. She was wearing her big sunglasses inside doing different arm and back exercises while sitting down. I felt a kindredship towards her, because I thought, thanks to her, I may not look like the only crazy one, since I was pacing back and forth, hunched over in my swimsuit and Thai cover up, holding a plastic bag as my purse. I considered talking to her, since she was alone too, and I thought that being alone in the hospital at her age must feel much more lonely than doing it at mine.

But then I saw another older man walk into the room, also crouching, an unlit cigarette, or piece of food dangling out of his mouth, I’m not sure which. He came and spoke some nonsense to her and then turned around and walked back out. By the look on her face I could tell that she had understood him, like someone who could only understand you when your life is their own. And she was smiling, a big smile, and somehow you could see her love for him radiating through her sunglasses as he waddled off to do, who knows what.

It was at that exact moment that I thought, that is true happiness. It is having a partner in life who loves you so much, and that you love so much, that your happiness is found, not at the beach in Lagos, but in the hospital waiting room, sharing your moments together.