I brought in 2026 with a wide smile on my face at midnight, and then woke up early this morning, went on a short road trip, and came back. I went hoping to catch the sunrise—but nature had other plans. It was misty and cloudy.

Surprisingly, I wasn’t disappointed. I found myself thinking, yeah, okay, and still enjoying the place. I loved it. The morning ended with a hearty, scrumptious breakfast.

I felt genuinely happy and at ease—as if I was quietly certain that this is going to be a great year for me and my family.

But what really constitutes a great year?

Maybe it’s the average number of days you felt good. Or maybe it’s the absence of sadness. I think it’s the latter—when there’s no major incident that leaves a permanent mark of hurt.

I have a theory that happiness is fleeting, whereas sadness is persistent. (Maybe it’s a world-renowned theory; I don’t know.) I only realized this recently.

For instance, when someone gets promoted at work, the celebration lasts maybe 24–48 hours before life resumes. But miss a promotion, and you can carry that feeling for over a year. Sadness—whether anger, disappointment, or disillusionment—is much harder to forget. Maybe it has something to do with broken trust. I’m not sure.

To feel joyful, to feel happy, you have to actively look for it and consciously remember the good moments. Sadness, on the other hand, doesn’t require effort—it arrives on its own.

Sadness is a wide-ranging emotion; it absorbs every small discomfort we’ve ever been handed. It took me a long time to recognize how instinctively I leaned into it—how easily I connected to it. For a long time, I mistook that familiarity as depth, even using it as an excuse to not live life fully.

But slowly, I started noticing the cost. When you stay there too long, sadness stops being something you feel—and starts becoming something you return to.

Familiar.
Comfortable.
Heavy.

As Vicky Kaushal’s character says in the movie Masaan, “yeh dukh kaahe khatam nahin hota hai be.” [Why doesn’t this sadness end?]

And maybe it doesn’t—unless you decide to stop living inside it.

But this year, I am actively choosing happiness. Resetting that familiar pull of sadness requires strength—and intention.

Maybe it’s like climbing stairs. Going up takes effort, but slipping down happens effortlessly. To stop the fall, you have to reach out and hold on to something—anything.

And maybe that’s what happiness really is.
Not the perfect sunrise, but staying with the morning even when it’s misty.

Acceptance doesn’t come naturally to me. It takes practice—again and again—like choosing to stay instead of wishing things were different.

And if 2026 feels even a little like this morning—calm, imperfect, and still good—then I think it’s going to be a great year. 🌱

Abundance. Growth. Acceptance.