LifeSightsSound

Ah, happiness, the elusive pot of gold at the end of life’s ever-winding rainbow. Or, perhaps, a mirage shimmering on the desert of existence, always promising an oasis just one step further. What a concept! What a farce! What a triumph of human self-deception! And yet, we cannot live without it, can we? After all, to aspire to happiness is to be human, to seek joy in a world that often provides little more than tepid amusement and overpriced Wi-Fi.

Let us dissect this slippery notion. For some, happiness is as simple as a cup of tea. “A good brew sorts me right out,” they declare, as though the universe conspired to arrange the perfect alignment of kettle, teabag, and milk. Others, however, demand a bit more wealth, fame, Instagram likes, or the absurdly specific dream of owning a villa in Tuscany with just the right amount of rustic charm. No, happiness is not universal. It is bespoke. Tailored to the whims of each individual like an overpriced Chanel suit, except no one knows the return policy.

Of course, there’s the school of thought that claims happiness is not a destination but a journey. How poetic. How infuriating. Imagine boarding a train where the conductor cheerfully announces, “This service has no final stop, but the scenery is lovely if you squint.” Such wisdom may bring comfort to those who fancy themselves philosophers, but for the rest of us, it’s tantamount to being told we’ll never actually arrive. And yet, we keep chasing it up the career ladder, through self-help books, across wellness retreats featuring dubious yoga instructors and far too much quinoa and kale.

But perhaps the cruelest trick of all is how happiness, even when it’s achieved, can prove hollow. A new car? Delightful, until the smell fades and you realise it’s just a metal box with a monthly payment plan. A romantic partner? Lovely, until they forget to do the dishes or insist on watching crime documentaries during dinner and they never check up on you even when you care the most. Even joy itself is fleeting, a sugar rush of the soul that eventually crashes. Happiness is, at times, an illusion, a magician’s trick performed with smoke and mirrors while the audience claps politely, pretending to understand.

And yet… and yet. Despite its vagueness, its subjectivity, its downright maddening inconsistency, we want it. We crave it. We write songs and poetry about it, build industries around it, and dedicate lifetimes to pursuing it. Why? Because in its purest moments, happiness is a source of joy so profound it makes the absurdity of life not only bearable but beautiful. It’s the unguarded laugh, the unexpected kindness, the fleeting second when you feel utterly, inexplicably alive. Happiness might be an illusion, but even illusions can be magical.

So, I want both. I want the fleeting and the lasting, the illusion and the joy. I want happiness in all its ridiculous, maddening forms. After all, what’s the alternative? To embrace misery as a badge of honour? To declare, “At least I’m realistic” while wallowing in existential despair? No, thank you. Give me happiness, vague and subjective as it is. Let me chase it, hold it, lose it, and find it again. Life’s too short to settle for less.