This isn't to say that I have suddenly become a lying, drunken whore, for goodness' sake. I am none of those things. But it does mean that I am happier.
Wickedness never was happiness, I hear finger-pointers say, quoting Alma 41:10 in the Book of Mormon.
What you define as wickedness or happiness, I would calmly reply, may not be how I experience or define those things.
In fact, the definitions of wickedness and happiness have changed in every generation in every culture back and back and back. I no longer live under the burden of a happiness defined by a nineteenth century white male, who certainly didn't have the happiness of women first and foremost in his thoughts. But I can even let that anger go, because I don't give the Church that power over me any more, and as they say, every minute spent in anger is 60 seconds of wasted happiness.
This is not to say that one will always be happy. That is silly and unrealistic. But the last six months have been filled with an abundant measure of love, joy, and peace—which are supposedly three fruits of the Spirit. Yesterday, attending a medieval musical concert for children, I blinked back happy tears as my son and I danced merrily with people we didn't even know. It was beautiful. It was areligious. It was harmony without an imposition of rigid expectations.
I agree entirely with the 11 things Neil Carter writes about in "What Leaving My Religion Did for Me." Perhaps what some would define as wickedness may actually be someone else's happiness. As disconcerting as that may, it is as important to "rejoice with those who rejoice" as it is to "mourn with those that mourn"—and not discount even the unfaithful person's genuine happiness as being anything less than what it is for that person. To do otherwise is to negate and diminish others while vaunting your own understanding, which might even be classified as a wickedness itself. And wickedness, you know, never was happiness.