The Space To Chase
Happiness is not a destination but a dream, and you need room to pursue it
What is the great marker of happiness? A good job, a loving partner, a family that makes you proud? Ask anyone what their idea of a happy life is and the overwhelming response will be a detailed description of what their life currently is not. If the explosion of social media and cancel culture has taught us anything (assuming we are still capable of learning anything at all), it is that the human condition thrives on criticism and critique—and we are not any of us immune, not even to our own.
That old philosopher Jesus might have been onto something when he said, ‘judge not lest ye be judged’. Translation: if you spend your time judging the world around you, you shouldn’t expect any different when you’re alone with yourself. Enter self-loathing, stage right. As another, less biblical philosopher summarized, ‘everything is amazing and no one is happy’. So while you keep telling yourself to make more money, win more hearts, and outshine the stars, you’re still left with here and now, and it’s empty. Why? Because happiness is not an account balance or a photo album, it is an elusive dream. Like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, happiness is an impossible objective, but it is also the bait and basis of motivation, and chasing happiness is what fills your life with substance.
I have a friend who calls getting laid every weekend ‘happiness’. I have another friend who calls clearing $20k a day ‘happiness’. They are on very different paths with very different goals, but they share a common theme: an objective and the space to chase it. Happiness is entirely dependent on how much space you have and your power to manipulate it. Think about it at even the most basic level: you’re nervous, pissed off, or worked up? First response, ‘stop crowding me’. You’re sad, excited, or horny? ‘Bring it in.’ The whole realm of happiness revolves around personal space.
So I struggle to understand how people compete to be stacked on top of each other in tinder boxes, and regard it a privilege to shell out upward of $3k every 30 days for the experience. Yes, experience. Not rent. Not livelihood. Experience. Regardless of what you might have heard, that’s actually all this life is—one big experience. And deep down, we all know that. Five-year-old you and me know that. That’s why we’re kicking and screaming on the inside, wondering how we got caught up in this silly rat race when we promised ourselves we wouldn’t. Wondering how we could have been so stupid to fall for those same old lines, “it’s different with us”; “we’ll only do it for a little while”; “we have a plan; get in, get out”. Twenty years later, working 50+ hour weeks and boxed in by your insurmountable debt, all you can say is, “five-year-old me was right.”
So tear down the fucking walls and run. Let your legs be as free as you were born to be. The world is full of wide open spaces to chase your dreams, and you don’t have to be a prisoner to your poor decisions. “But I have to take responsibility for my actions,” you say? That sounds like something bankers taught you. You know that high rate of interest that keeps you from making a dent in your debt? That’s the bank’s hedge for people that skip out on loans. This is no time to change the world, we’re here working on you, sweetie. And you need to be free. If you want to pay penance, next time you meet someone buried under bills, buy them a coffee. But for the here and now, run. Because if there is anything I know for sure, your dreams don’t mean shit if you don’t have the space to chase them.
