Happiness is unpacking the last box.
Not the one with plates or bathroom bottles, but the very last one. The box that sat in the corner for weeks. The one you promised yourself you’d unpack tomorrow, and every “tomorrow” quietly turned into the day after.
And then you’re sitting on the floor, tearing off the tape, pulling out the final random things: an old notebook, a few empty jars, some cables you have no idea what they belong to. And suddenly you realize — that’s it. No more boxes. Everything has its place. Or at least nothing is screaming for attention anymore.
That moment when a home stops feeling like a storage unit and starts feeling like a place you actually live in. When you can lie down on the couch without thinking, “there’s still a box in the hallway.”
Pure bliss!