Readers Write In #757: Happiness: It Shows Up When You Stop Looking

By Karzzexped

Happiness: the word itself feels elusive, a mirage that seems to recede the closer we get. Many of us see it as life’s ultimate aim—a destination promising fulfilment, purpose, perhaps even peace. But recently, I’ve found myself questioning this pursuit more deeply: does actively chasing happiness really lead anywhere? Or does happiness, paradoxically, appear only when we stop chasing and let life unfold? A recent article in Psychology Today touches on this idea, suggesting that happiness might be less of a goal and more of a quiet byproduct of engaging in things that truly resonate with us.

Happiness is not only a personal quest but also a form of societal conditioning. From childhood, we’re fed the notion that happiness awaits us in life’s milestones—wealth, status, a beautiful home, or a secure future. And yet, there’s a personal conundrum: the more intensely I focus on achieving happiness, the more it slips away. The same article referenced above reveals that an obsessive chase for happiness can leave one feeling empty rather than fulfilled. In my own obsessive pursuit in the past, I sometimes felt like the stray dog that frequents my street—diligently chasing cars and motorcycles each day, only to return bruised, exasperated, and no closer to what it set out to achieve. It’s not that these pursuits are fruitless, but perhaps the obsession with them is.

For me, the obsession mainly stemmed from an unhealthy need to constantly monitor the ebbs and flows of my emotions. Dr. Russ Harris, in his book The Happiness Trap, examines the feeling that the more we evaluate our happiness, the more inadequate we feel. Happiness, idealised as a state of perfect bliss, can feel as unattainable as it is desirable. Jaggi Vasudev might vehemently disagree, but I’m not an “Engineering” graduate, so I might never know. What I do know is that constantly assessing myself against this ideal leaves me in a cycle of self-criticism and frustration, chasing a concept that always seems to retreat. It’s like aiming for the North Star instead of using it as a guiding principle.

Ironically, real happiness often sneaks up on me when I’m so absorbed in an experience that I forget to ask myself if I’m happy. The late Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, in his book Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience, called this experience “flow”—a state of complete absorption, where time falls away and we’re fully engaged in the moment. Whether I’m engrossed in a book, lost in the trance of a motorcycle ride, or engaged in a deep and meaningful conversation, these moments offer a kind of happiness that feels effortless, unbound by any external reward.

Then there’s the matter of expectations. How often do we link happiness to specific conditions—a dream job, a fulfilling relationship, a balanced social life? Yet life rarely aligns perfectly with these visions. When we pin happiness on how things should be, we’re bound to be disappointed. This also creates a subtle yet important distinction: that the current state in which we exist isn’t our happiest. Research suggests that people who experience joy serendipitously—without expectation—often feel a deeper and more lasting sense of fulfilment. True happiness, it seems, often arrives unannounced—like taking a sudden yet beautiful evening walk in the midst of a demanding day at work and an equally demanding boss.

And yet, when happiness feels elusive, I’ve felt the pull towards quick fixes—intoxicants or other temporary distractions to make life seem a little brighter, at least for that moment. But while these “fixes” might bring a fleeting sense of relief, they also come with deeper, lasting, and sometimes disastrous consequences. It’s like how slot machines are designed in casinos: the player gets hooked after the first win, and then the rest of the plays are not for the win, but just a futile chase to match the initial high. Personally, I’ve learnt that these shortcuts to comfort often dull the senses and leave me feeling more hollow than before. What started due to boredom during Covid’s enforced isolation quickly turned into a different form of imprisonment. By the time I realised this, the second wave of Covid had long subsided—but so, too, had my dopamine reserves. It took a sabbatical from work, a much-needed dressing-down from my partner that jolted me awake, and a six-month trip that nearly drained my savings to finally bring me back to myself. In the end, the cost felt trivial compared to what I had almost lost.

So, if happiness isn’t found in achievements or quick fixes, where does it come from? For me, happiness has started to feel more like a byproduct of meaning. To expand, happiness rooted in purpose is less about sudden ecstasies and more about the steady satisfaction of a life aligned with my values. This is more stable and enduring because it’s anchored in what genuinely matters to me. Roy Baumeister argues that meaningful pursuits, often requiring patience or sacrifice, can bring more enduring fulfilment than immediate pleasures. When I’m deeply connected to something – a cause, a relationship, or a creative pursuit, happiness follows as a steady presence, not as an occasional thrill.

The pursuit of happiness may indeed be misguided—not because happiness lacks worth, but because it becomes elusive when chasing it too intently. In our fixation on feeling happy, we often overlook that life—with all its peaks, valleys, and quiet spaces in between—is unfolding in each moment. And so, it feels only fitting to close with one of my favourite final quotes from The Office: “I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.” But if we could truly recognise that these moments—right here, right now—are the good times, life might just unfold with a richer, infinite beauty.