happiness, most definitely not defined

What is happiness?

Times are not happiness.  They might be glimpses of happy situations, of glimpses of what we recognize as the ideal.  Almost like we suddenly stumbled into what we imagine is someone else's life, their situation.  Grasping onto that fleeting moment, and then slowly drifting into melancholy as it retreats into the distance.  Melancholy and disillusion, continuous and only occasionally overshadowed by moments of fleeting happiness.  The ephemeral nature of this happiness only adds to the depth of disillusion.

Happiness is....is not something that i can define for someone else.  I know what makes me happy: adventure, discovery, camaraderie, love, accomplishment, contentment.  That's not the same list for everyone, or anyone; it doesn't matter to me.  It's what makes me happy.

I can't define someone else's happiness.  I can try to augment it, add new facets to it, help them open new avenues to it that they may never have known existed within themselves.  What makes me happy might not make them happy, and I might not understand just what it is that makes them happy.  Or not happy, or somewhere in between.  I can try, but all my trying might not work, might never make them happy because i'm chasing some avenue that i think will bring them happiness, and yet doesn't, and never will.

If i can't understand what brings them happiness...where do i fit in?