Life hurts. You can’t let yourself think about it too much or you will live in agony, cerberus amongst fallen angels, Sisyphus of shattered dreams. It is unlikely that you will find what you want, likely less still that you will find who you want, and if you should manage to achieve either you must be content and constant thereto, as you are guaranteed the continued presence of neither and forbidden by the Ordrer of Things from having both.
What you can maintain under your own command are peace and happiness amidst and despite the endless collapse, privation, and loss—but these cannot be bound to anything other than the act of being faithful itself. To bind them to the storm that surrounds you (or to the possibility of its clearing) is to ensure that you will be carried away by it, never to be seen or heard from again.