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When I was little, maybe about 10 years old, I was at my grandmother’s house for our annual family Thanksgiving get together. We had eaten good food and pie, and my brothers and sister and cousins had been excused to go play in another room. I wasn’t feeling well so my mother had me lay on the daybed on one end of the large kitchen/dining room while she and my aunties cleared the tables and washed the dishes.
As I lay there, listening to the women talking and laughing together, clanking dishes and silverware softly as they went about cleaning up, I had the most heavenly feeling wash over me. I felt perfect in every way, and it felt like everything around me was perfect. This surge of love and lightness and delicious pleasure in my very core was something I had never felt before. I was surprised that anyone could feel so happy at any given time.
I was so in awe of the feeling, I tried to describe it to my parents in the car on our way home. I wondered if my mother or father understood what I was trying to describe, and if they had ever felt that way themselves. After a little discussion, my parents did know a word to describe the feeling: Euphoria.