A Meditation on Happiness

From the pursuit to the partaking.

I invite you to explore a topic that concerns us all: happiness.

For something so essential, so deeply woven into human life, it remains remarkably elusive. We spend our days seeking it, longing for it, yet when we reach for it, try to grasp it, or when we attempt to define it, to capture it in words… it slips through our fingers. Necessary for life, yet whatever I can try to say about it will be insufficient. I can explore it, progress toward it, invite you to reflect on it, but happiness is not a lesson to be taught or a formula to be solved.

I can say this much with certainty: it is easy – common, even – to write about wanting happiness, especially when it remains out of reach. Equally easy is to write about remembering happiness, recalling a golden past that now feels distant. But how do we speak of happiness in the present tense? How do we write, here and now, I am happy, in a way that compels? How do we write in a way that invites another to partake in that experience? Hardest of all, how do I write something that is happy, something that, in the very act of reading, evokes happiness itself?

Let’s dip our toes into the water with a simple question: Can happiness be shared?

Sharing? Ah yes, sharing. When I ask someone to share, it’s usually cuz I’m hungry. Maybe you’re hungry? Here, have half of my sandwich. But happiness is not like a sandwich.

Funny? … No? Well, let’s try again. Lock in.

We are taught to seek happiness. To find what makes us happy and to pursue it. This framing means happiness is something external. It’s waiting to be discovered, acquired, and possessed. It is out there, so let’s go after it. Be a go-getter. Take, for example, someone who lands their dream job. They’ve been working really hard, built a reputation among their colleagues, achieved successes, and created the idea in their minds that acquiring this role would bring them the life fulfillment they’ve always wanted. Sounds amazing, right? Not so fast. Isn’t this actually terrible? They’ve redefined life as their work and the work is based on a contract of servitude to an employer. Who cares how enjoyable the job is. It’s still work for someone else not even for oneself. The richness of life refuses to be contained within the confines of a contract. And – back to reality: most jobs are genuinely awful. We do them not because they fulfill us, but because we have no real alternatives.

It gets worse, though. As we orient our lives to find and obtain happiness, we inevitably run into powerful barriers: The job gets in the way. Setbacks arise. Responsibilities pile up. Relationships drain energy. Exhaustion takes hold. Other people disrupt our plans, sometimes carelessly, sometimes cruelly. And so, many end up telling themselves that maybe this whole happiness pursuit is too much. So they lower their expectations. Shifting from happiness to something smaller, more manageable: momentary joy.

If I can’t be happy, at least I can have this or that. A little jolt of pleasure. A hit from something new. I’ll open a new credit card and buy stuff. Browse around, add things to my cart, build anticipation for the purchase. And soon – maybe even later today – the bright and shiny new thing will arrive.

(Thank you, delivery slaves! – Oh, wait…)

Then I’ll get that endorphin spike, just like in the commercials.

Until the luster fades. But it was fun enough, so you repeat.

It’s never satisfying, but for a while, it keeps the engines running. At least the treats provide a little burst of joy (a 2-pump-chump’s worth) before refracting back to normal, i.e., back to zero. (Or worse, despair.) Then the bill comes due, and suddenly, those small bursts of joy reveal their cost.

Master Debt has come a-calling, his loyal demons, Stress and Misery, trailing in tow.

There’s something profoundly sad about this, isn’t there? The cycle. The emptiness. The way we give in, knowing it won’t fulfill us but doing it anyway. We’ve all done it. We’ve all welcomed stress and misery into our hearts. We can feel it in ourselves. It lurks between the lines of much of what we read. And we see it in the sadness of others.

Now, why does this pursuit yield such sorry outcomes? The problem isn’t simply the shift from seeking happiness to chasing moments of joy. There’s nothing inherently wrong with acquiring something you desire. Nice-to-haves are nice to have. That’s obvious.

The real problem – that which breeds despair – occurs when these external objects, these little indulgences, rise to the level of necessity. When they become the sources of happiness. When fulfillment becomes confused with acquisition. When we convince ourselves that something out there will complete us.

And yet, disturbingly, this remains the dominant teaching on happiness.

You don’t need to dig deep to find it. Just turn on your television. Log onto Instagram, YouTube, or TikTok. Visit a Target. It’s all around you.

Every. Single. Advertisement. You. Have. Ever. Seen.

Its lessons drilled relentlessly into our psyche. A pillar of late capitalist society. And not just in advertising. This teaching runs deeper. It’s embedded in the culture itself.

What are the consequences? For one, the persistence of despair. Isolation. It atomizes, separates, and distracts us. It convinces us that happiness is nothing more than what we buy.

It’s consumerism. It’s consumptive.

And it enables those in power to keep the distracted and divided precisely where they want them: disempowered.

There. I set out to write about happiness, and in just a few paragraphs, I’ve landed on politics. This isn’t to deny the political dimension of the discussion, as each step in our reflection has led to this point. And while I’m very tempted to go further here, we note the connection of happiness and politics but must save it for another meditation.

Still, keep this connection in mind. 😉

But when the cracks begin to show, when the realization dawns that consumerism is a hollow promise, something curious happens: we need a new belief about happiness. We do not want to give up on it as a possibility. But where can it be found?

If happiness cannot be bought, perhaps it can be remembered. Maybe it was never meant to be pursued at all, only preserved. And so, we take the next step: we neither confront our situation with clarity nor put in the effort toward a better state of being. Instead, we retreat into nostalgia.

Life is careless. Life is cruel. We need somewhere to place the ache in our souls, so we reminisce. Reconstruct. Idealize. Longing for a return.

For most, this longing often centers on one of two experiences, sometimes both. The first was during childhood – when I was free, when I had not a care in the world. The second was the first love – that time when we were young and loved each other completely.

But those days are gone. Life now feels heavy, yet I take some small comfort in knowing that, at least once, things were different. At least once, I was happy. Or as close to happiness as I ever came. It was the best I had.

If happiness was the carefree lightness of childhood, then love, burdened with desire, worry, and attachment, would be its opposite. And yet, when we long for happiness, we turn to both. We cling to the weightlessness of youth, yet also to the depth of first love. But happiness cannot be both carelessness and care. It cannot be both freedom and attachment.

So, which is it?

Neither. A memory is not the thing itself. The past is not happiness, only a reference to it.

Or if happiness is neither the past nor a memory, then what is it? How can we claim to have something we do not even understand?

Perhaps the better question is: Can we even "have" happiness at all? If happiness is not something we own, perhaps it is something we embody. Or, better still, something we participate in.

And so, we arrive at a new question: if happiness is not an object to be had, but a state to be participated in, how do we participate?

One answer: when we participate in the act of creation.

Happiness is so pregnant with meaning, so fundamental to our nature, that we long to create it – quite literally. The act of reproduction – the creation of a living image of ourselves – is without a doubt the most universal and most powerful. For a child is not merely a new, living, breathing, needful creature. A child is a living symbol, the embodiment of the love that brought them into the world. A parent’s joy incarnate. Happiness incarnate.

That is the reason for the union in the first place. Through it, the parents create a joy that endures past their own lifetimes. For most parents, the child’s presence causes a fundamental shift. Your life’s center of gravity and purpose realigns from yourself toward another. Your happiness becomes linked with your child – as they grow, flourish, and discover happiness themselves.

This connection with the child shows that parenthood is an ongoing act of creation. Creation did not begin just during conception and end with the child’s birth; it evolves continuously through the raising and shaping of a life. As the child grows, as the parents grow. To be a parent is to be bound, not just in love, but in responsibility. To take part in something greater than yourself does not mean control; it means participation. And that participation does not end.

Even if the bonds are strained, even if distance or hardship comes between you, even if the child turns away, the connection remains. You will always relate to them as the embodiment of happiness because you are their parent. A parent might make mistakes and even harm the relationship. But unless they commit the ultimate betrayal – disowning their child – the bond is never truly severed. And so long as that bond exists, the parent will continue to fight for their child’s happiness, for their life.

We now see both a lightness and a burden to parenthood. There is contagious joy in the child’s laughter, bound up with ongoing care and responsibility to prepare the child for the world. This is a burden that cannot be set aside. Happiness as parenthood contains the ethical obligation to one’s own. This is mandatory. It is the deepest of responsibilities.

Should we wonder why a parent will fight to death and beyond to protect and nourish their bond? No. The reason is clear: their child’s growth and flourishing – inseparable from care and responsibility – are precisely what bring parents true happiness. Even the mere possibility of their child’s flourishing fills parents’ souls with a joy that is pure and unshakable.

A parent’s life becomes life for the sake of their child, who begins entirely dependent upon the parents. Over time the dependency reduces in certain ways, but its powerful echoes remain forever. Joy and responsibility, the heaviness and lightness, become inextricably woven into the fabric of daily life to include all the struggles, the nonsense, the wins and losses, the pranks, the heartache and laughter. The rises and falls, the successes and failures. Unconditional love that is ethically required – unfree. Intensely personal and impactful, yet also given and shared.

This is the highest and most universal expression of happiness. It is as old as humanity and will persist as long as our species survives.

Parenthood encapsulates the past, present and future, touching the fullness of human life, for those who choose to partake.

If there is a higher power, parenthood is humanity’s expression as its image.

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But there is an objection.

Sousarion, I have no children. Or I cannot have children. Or I do not want children. (Or I cannot afford children.) You’ve given us an example – not a principle. Something conditional, not universal.

And that is true. Parenthood is not the sole path to happiness. But this example applies, or, in the very least, is applicable to as many people as possible. This is why I selected parenthood: because it comes as closest to a principle for partaking in happiness.

But I grant the objection, nonetheless. Let us now explore happiness further and from a perspective: that of the individual. Not in rejection of others, but independent of them, for the most part.

Let us agree on the following: happiness will not arrive through the mere acquisition of things. We have all experienced the dead end of consumption. How it creates an unhealthy cycle of craving, anticipation, the burst of joy, and then refraction, dissatisfaction, distraction, craving anew, chasing the treat. Then repeat and repeat and repeat. Hamster wheel vibes, initially. Until you realize the control mechanisms keeping you lonely, locking you in to the wheel of despair.

It is a process we feel locked into not because it is true, but because it is the reality we are raised in. Society has embedded it so deeply into our way of being that it seems like the only way. Not just powerful; relentless.

Yet even within this cycle of despair, the commitment to happiness remains. Damaged? Yes. Distorted? Certainly. Misunderstood? Undeniably. Also – never fully extinguished. It may feel implausible, but it is not impossible, not beyond hope. Perhaps I cannot afford to reach for it, yet I cannot help but wish I could. And that matters. Because if the desire lingers, then despair has not consumed us. We hope, and so we may be closer to happiness than we realize.

If we cut through the haze, we can see it clearly: the treats themselves were never the source of happiness. They were only a means, a trigger, a gateway to something else: to feeling happy. And what gives that feeling weight is the state of being from which it arises. Your state of being. My state of being. That state we hope against hope to attain. In this light, the search for happiness takes on a new form. It is no longer about pursuit, but about realization; less a chase and more an inner awakening.

This is interesting. So let’s explore further. If happiness is something I feel, that makes sense. I want to feel good about who I am, what I’m doing with my life. The people in my life. All the rest. The experience of this feeling is my state of being. … Wow. Suddenly I’m getting all mushy inside. Didn’t expect this. But I liked that little ripple. I’d like to feel it more. I’d like to get into that headspace. To feel this way all the time. To partake in this state of being.

How’s it done? How do I attain it? How do I hold on to it?

Now let’s stop for a moment and think about what happened. We’ve certainly taken a step forward. You feel it. But hold on. Was the step taken by us? I’m writing and you’re reading. So, by you? Or by me? Am I following and you’re listening? Are you reading and I’m following? Who is being impacted right now? Who’s received what took place? – What you need to realize is that this state of being, or this feeling, if you prefer, is yours. Or it’s mine. Not both at once. Maybe not even the same internal phenomenon. Our hearts may be beating a little faster but it’s your heart and my heart, this time. Because happiness is personal. Deeply personal.

I might share glimpses of it with those closest to me: a dear friend, my partner, my children (if I have any). I might point them in the right direction, so to speak, do everything in my power to help, but I cannot hand it to them. I cannot baptize them in my happiness, nor can they in mine. At best, we are witnesses to each other’s journeys, as companions, servants to each other’s pursuits. By its nature, happiness is singular, personal. I will have mine. May you have yours.

From this realization, conflicts arise – not necessarily, but often enough. The struggles for happiness have played out for millennia, their echoes scattered across our oldest myths. From the divine struggle of Gilgamesh and Ishtar to Paris and Helen, whose kidnap set a thousand ships to war. Or perhaps you prefer the tale of ultimate woe, that of Juliet and her Romeo. The story cycles, again and again.

It is far too easy for the passions of envy, jealousy, covetousness, and avarice to poison the well. To see another’s happiness as a threat to our own, somehow. To resent, even hate, those whose happiness seems greater than ours. At times people kill to prevent another’s happiness. We know this, if not consciously, then somewhere deep within us, especially when we recognize just how fragile happiness can be. How easily it can be dashed.

But this can only be true if we return to mistaking happiness as something external. Let us imagine an extreme example: someone kidnaps a child. Later, the parents find the child murdered. That is happiness destroyed. There is no restoring it. No revenge, no justice will undo the loss. We are reminded that it is far easier to destroy than to create. This thought brings me to tears – that parents must bury their child. The child was their flesh and blood. Different from them, growing in life, but sharing life together. And that has been taken away forever.

I cannot image – much less describe – how hard it must be simply to endure. In such a case, perhaps happiness does dissolve into despair. Such an outcome would be unwished for, but understandable. A loving friend, partner, family, or community would do their best to comfort the parents and help in whatever way they could. I certainly would. It would not be enough. No one can bring the child back. Their first step is to accept that fact, then reconcile themselves to it. Everything has been damaged, torn, undone. Had there been a glow – it is gone. Accept these. They are reality. It is incommunicably sad, that’s true. Accept the sadness. Hiding from it, denying it will make you worse. If you accept, you can begin to heal. The scar will be there forever. The pain will never fully dissipate. You will wake up in the middle of the night and weep. That is okay. These are part of your life. Accept these. And then, after you’ve taken the time you need, allow yourself some space inside yourself for mending. For healing. Some repose. Cherishing and loving despite the loss – continuing to cherish and love because of the loss. Become stronger because you are finding a way to continue. Then let yourself begin to feel 1% better than you were. Your child would want this for you. Permit a smile. Shed a tear at the contagious joy their laughter brought to you. Reminisce and continue forward. Continue for them. Improve and heal. Make a little more room. Stay true to them. Let a little more in. Open yourself up to free a little happiness within you. It’s yours and for you. It will emanate throughout, bringing you strength and fortitude. Continue for them and continue for you.

No matter what happens, at least a little bit of happiness will always remain attainable. This is precious, sacred. Forever available, waiting to be acknowledged and accepted. For you to open your being to it. It is within you, waiting to be recognized as yours. This is why happiness is private.

Life is fleeting, and so easy to cut short. It’s delicate and sacred and precious. Happiness itself realizes this; in an act of self-preservation, it restricts itself from being fully shareable. In other words, happiness is meant to be personal. It is for me to partake in if I can achieve the state of being. No one else can fully replicate my happiness, for no one else is me.

By extension, no one else can fully partake in my state of being. It is mine alone. Those closest to me, that is, those who walk beside me, who see me unguarded, they might sense its presence, might feel its warmth. But it would be absurd to say, for example, that my partner’s state of being and mine are one and the same. While close, and with some degree of overlap, my state of being is not the experience she lives; it is an experience she may observe. We do our best to build each other up but we must partake in happiness alone. She must find her own way. As must you.

But how, then, does one reach this state? Under what conditions does happiness arise?
For me, when I am mindfully engaged in what I love – writing or music, in particular – it manifests naturally. But even beyond these, happiness is not confined to intrinsically spiritual moments of creation or activity. When I am engaged with another commitment, I may enjoy the activity less, but it does not follow that, in some way, I am less happy. Further, I can be equally happy in stillness. Simply sitting, reflecting on whatever I choose. Embracing the peacefulness of slowing down, of coming to rest. There is deep satisfaction in this, in the serenity of stillness itself.

At times, I need stillness to regain strength for something yet to come. At others, I rest simply to bask in the knowledge that my abilities remain at hand, ready to be actualized, yet content to be at ease. And even in action, I access this inner calm, this focus, this peace, moving through my work with the quiet assurance that I am doing the best I can in that moment – and that is enough. No one can take that from me. For I do not own happiness; I participate in it. I partake, I observe, I describe, and I share. Perhaps, in reading this, you too may find a path to your own.

A meditation on happiness is necessary but insufficient. Necessary, because if your life is not oriented toward happiness, much remains to be done. But insufficient, because no words, no matter how thoughtful, beautiful, penetrating, eloquent, or whatever, can fully encapsulate an experience so singular and personal. My examples are only that; they do not rise to the level of a universal principle. They are not exhaustive. They do not dictate. They do not prescribe. They aim, instead, to communicate something universally. To reveal an opening to you, a point of connection – a welcome to yourself. And if you find that connection, if these words have spoken to you in some way, then may they help. Perhaps, if I’m lucky, they have even been beautiful.

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