Do You Believe in Happy?

Two women. Both wear black. They sit across from each other. Separated by a pair of steaming coffee cups and one crumbling muffin.

I just want you to be happy, the younger woman says, and sips.

The older woman chuckles. Smiles. I don't believe in happy, she says. I believe that on any given day, we are more or less okay. Not happy, but okay.

The younger woman sips some more, contemplates this. Pinches an edge from that muffin they share.

And they sit there, that hazy cloud of silence and steam and semantics dancing between them.

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Do you believe in happy? Do you believe that our more glorious notions of happiness fray as we age? Do you believe that the difference between these women comes down to optimism and pessimism, youth and age, or is the distinction between their outlooks more complicated than that?