When I was a senior in high school, I penned a poem entitled “The Ladder.” Above the title, I drew a simple picture of a ladder with a disproportionately large question mark at the top. Boldly printed above the question mark was the word “HAPPINESS.” My empty, desolate teenage soul was desperate to understand what happiness felt like. Was it ever going to be possible for me to “be” happy? If I reached the top of this “ladder,” would I experience a glimmer of hope? Or would I remain forever stuck in the swamp of darkness that cemented me at the bottom, preventing me from taking that first step?