I sometimes wonder if anyone in the world is as happy as they seem to be. We spend years comparing our lives to the lives of the people around us without realizing that what we really might be doing is comparing performances.

Every now and then we get a peak at the mania or insecurity or desperation buried in each other, but instead of grasping the view for what it is, we turn away embarrassed. As if it's better to see paintings of someone's soul instead of windows into it.

Why are so many people afraid of living genuine lives? Why are so many of us afraid of telling people what we really think and feel and want? Is it because we are still figuring out a way to be honest about what we see in the mirror and hold in our hearts? I honestly don't know. But when you think about how many lives have been completely spent in the pursuit of a phantom happiness that never seems to materialize it can get a little overwhelming.