It’s like a game I play with my daughter, where she draws something and I’m supposed to guess what it is. But she’s 5, and has a wild imagination far beyond the calibre of her artistic skills, so let’s be honest here: I’m not likely to get what that squiggle-dot-dot-circle-stick legs thing really is, am I?

That’s how I feel about “finding my bliss“.

I read all these posts about people being “blissed out”, having “found [their] bliss”, and I just sit and stare at my monitor wondering exactly what the hell that really means. Does not knowing mean I’m somehow broken? Missing a piece? Am I not seeing the joy or beauty or (god forbid) happy happy sweet unicorn lollipop love that everyone else is finding? Or does it mean I just haven’t found mine yet?

My friend Karma tells me that my bliss is whatever gives me tingles. It’s whatever makes me feel fulfilled and excited. Surely my bliss can’t really be chocolate ice cream. Can it?

Last night, I had a long discussion with my husband about life. In general. In specifics. You know, one of those conversations that has you chatting in circles and wishes for hours on end? It was wonderful and maddening and wistful and full of plans and dreams.

And while I still really have no concrete idea exactly what (beyond ice cream) my bliss may be, I think we’re at the very least on a new path to a world of excitement and happiness. And that is wonderful.