Happiness is subjective. Depending on what life experiences you’ve endured in the past shapes your perfect happiness for the future. I enjoy reading and the main type of books that I turn to are about young woman in the late 20’s or early 30’s, single, has 2 or 3 best girlfriends, working an impressive job in a big city, hating what they do but constantly trying to find happiness in it, see beauty all around and yet feel empty or some part missing.
The whole book goes into their rampages and babbling experiences of bad dates, drunkin nights laughing about their pathetic life, the everyday grind, disappointments, longing crushes, outfit changes, spiritual growth, annoying family involvement, and the fact that they are extremely and whole heartedly single and their clock is ticking. I squirm and worm through the book hoping the next page will bring ultimate happiness, that their crush of crushes will walk through those velvet curtains and sweep them off their feet! But for 300+ pages nothing happens and it inferiates me! Then as your approaching the end, out of no where the man of their dreams speaks up! He vows to have wanted to be with them the whole time but felt ignored or unwanted! Out of all fairy tails to happen, the single yet financially successful young adult finds Love and her ultimate happiness begins. The End!
WHY CANT I LIVE IN THE NOVELS I READ! They find Love and happiness and ultimately find what they truly wanted out of life. Their so romantic and exquisite! I’m not saying I want my life to be like this, I just want my Prince Charming to freakin’ make his debut already like the ending of the books! I read to keep me going. To give me hope for the future and a few chuckles here and there. I’ve read so many amazing books, I feel like I relate to them more than real life. Is that normal? I am in the of two books right now and am looking for more! If you have any suggestions let me know!!!
Here is my dedication to READING = America’s Past Time