We live in a world where we need to almost compulsively extravert our incredible luck. Hashtags such as #happy #mostbestwonderfuleverwhatevermoment and the likes suggest that we are all constantly happy. That life is only made up out of our best moments. The amazing new relationship. The most incredible marriage. The exceptional pregnancy. The greatest latest trip. The most perfect new flat. The incredible latest achievement we did. Or whatever else. Happiness is the main thing. Always. 24 hours. 30 days a month. 360 days a year. A society trimmed to the perfect staging of its perpetual permanent luck. And to even convert the negative experience into some positive hashtag motivational crap blared out to the world. Hereby we forget the beauty of sadness that exists no matter if we show it or not. The quiet moments. The moments of failure and fear that teach us a silent lesson. What we show might be real as well. But we only show a tiny moment of the whole experience. And it feels that the more we only show our perfect luck, the more empty the real experience feels and the more meaningless even our exchange with others becomes. Because you can´t cut out the bad from the good. And no one can ever keep up for real with the high bar of happiness we set for ourselves and others.