My Daughter Can't Even Talk Yet, But Her Book Just Schooled Me

My daughter is one, so she doesn't really care what I read to her at bedtime. She's mostly interested in trying to eat the corners of the pages or flipping ahead when I'm mid-sentence. But Tuesday night, something happened while I was reading her "Where Happiness Lives."

I was reading the story about these three little mice, each of whom thinks happiness lives somewhere else. The first mouse looks at the second mouse's bigger house and thinks, "That's where I'd be happy." The second mouse sees the third mouse's mansion and thinks the same thing. Each one convinced that happiness is just one step up from where they are now.

And I realized I've been one of those mice my whole life.

Always thinking that happiness lay in the next milestone - a better job, a bigger house, a promotion, or becoming a father. Even now, I catch myself thinking it'll come when I feel more confident as a dad, when I have more of my life figured out, when I'm the parent I think I should be.

But then comes the twist that stopped me cold - when the mice finally reach the biggest, fanciest house, they find the owner looking back through a telescope at the first mouse's tiny home. She's watching that simple little life and smiling, because that's what makes her happy.

My daughter had no idea her dad was having a minor breakdown over a picture book about mice.

It's been days now, and I can't shake it. How can I teach her to find joy in who she is and what she has if I'm constantly modeling the opposite? How can I show her that happiness lives right here, right now, in this moment, in this life we're building together, if I'm always looking somewhere else for it?

She's watching me. Learning from me. And I want her to see a dad who finds magic in ordinary Tuesday nights, who doesn't need the next thing to be content. I want her to grow up knowing that happiness isn't a destination she has to earn or achieve - it's already here, in the weight of her in my arms, in the sound of her laugh, in the simple fact that we have each other.

Maybe that's what I needed to hear. That I can't give her what I don't have myself. And happiness has been here all along.

Sometimes the lessons we think we're teaching are the ones we need to learn ourselves.