The Truth About Happiness: What You've Been Getting Wrong

Discover the Real Path to Fulfillment and Why It's Not What You Think

I write frequently about sound decision-making in the face of complex problems. I offer my perspective by drawing from personal experiences and navigating workplace challenges, always striving to integrate wisdom and compassion. Recently, however, I found myself caught in a spiral of self-betrayal that demanded a problematic choice.

At a company proclaiming inclusion, I faced intense implicit pressure to change core aspects of myself to fit in.

Despite well-meaning rhetoric, the underlying culture resisted embracing diverse personalities and communication styles that clashed too sharply with the norm. As an outspoken Latin man inclined towards passionate expressions of emotion and conviction, I struggled to feel welcomed as my authentic self.

Over time, subduing my fire to avoid ruffling feathers eroded my spirit and mental health.

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Ironically, in a culture paying lip service to empowering marginalized voices, I felt compelled to silence my own. The cognitive dissonance between stated values and intolerance of divergence increasingly distressed me. Finally, I reached a breaking point no amount of meditation or self-care could mend. Only setting the firm boundary of resignation finally helped me acknowledge how far I had drifted from myself in toxic waters. Sometimes embracing the hard but healthy path means saying “this far but no more.” 

Protecting inner integrity matters most when external forces attempt, consciously or not, to warp one’s identity. However difficult it was, I feel proud for ultimately defending mine.

While still regaining equilibrium, I aim to clarify personal lessons from this painful trial.

Let’s take a moment to ponder on a phrase that has been etched in my mind for years, a phrase by the French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre:

“Life has no meaning a priori... It’s up to you to give it a meaning, and the value is nothing more than the meaning you choose.” 

It’s a thought that’s as liberating as it is daunting and places the weight of life’s purpose squarely on our shoulders. His point was that life doesn’t just show up with a neat little instruction packet that explains why we’re here and what we’re supposed to do.

Nope, instead, we’re tossed onto this crazy planet and expected to figure it out ourselves. Talk about intimidating! It basically means each of us faces a giant empty canvas, and the meaning of our lives will depend entirely on the brushstrokes we choose to paint.

This idea struck a chord with me even then. As an independent spirit and budding anarchist, I dug Sartre’s message that we alone determine life’s meaning and value through the narratives we construct. He captured precisely what was so terrifying and exhilarating about the human condition - this radical freedom to author our own stories.

See, I pictured life’s meaning like a Jackson Pollock painting. No rules or external points; pure self-expression splattered wildly from within. Isn’t that what Sartre’s villanterie whispered—a subversive call to define existence on our own terms.

Life, as I see it, is an individual project, a personal narrative that we’re all trying to write. It’s a narrative guided by values of the moral order, which Aristotle eloquently expressed in his book, The Nicomachean Ethics.

Now, what exactly does that DIY approach towards constructing meaning look like? For Moi, it feels reminiscent of something Aristotle said eons ago about that elusive unicorn called “happiness” in his Nicomachean Ethics:  

“Happiness is an expression of the soul in considered actions.”

Considered actions? It evokes something about living intentionally. The phrasing also hints that our souls express rather than conform to external formulas. This makes me picture existence again as an artistic endeavor—call it Soul Painting 101. We’re handed our palette of passions and interests, relationships and milestones, vocations and avocations, heartbreaks and triumphs, sorrows and laughter. Then, each life becomes its own complex, colorful self-portrait that cannot be replicated or judged from without.

I remember reading Aristotle’s virtue ethics framework as an angsty, long-haired teen. Yeah, I took a Philosophy 101 class in college cause I fancied myself the next coming of Marx, Kierkegaard, or Rabindranath Tagore. Grandiose dreams aside, Aristotle’s insights struck a chord about living well versus just chasing pleasure. The philosophical giants provoke us from their ancient graves to keep examining ourselves and this weird journey we’re all on together.

His wisdom reached across the centuries to encourage my teenage self, grappling with anxiety and depression, to focus less on social approval and more on crafting an existence true to my developing principles. Finding philosophers like Aristotle showed me I wasn’t alone in my struggles to architect a meaningful life according to my own conscience and vision.

If you feel that we are going too deep, please stop at this point. I am going even more profound.

Why Are We Really Here?

Throughout history, humans have gazed up at the night sky or starry wilderness and been seized by a simple but profound question: why does all this exist instead of nothing at all? The fact that reality burst into being and spawned creatures even capable of contemplating reality strikes me as downright uncanny. No wonder we’re compelled to ask, “but, like...why?”

Who among us hasn’t grappled with the question of God’s existence? This question takes us instantly down the rabbit hole into humanity’s biggest head-scratchers: 

• What are we doing here? 

• What is the purpose of life? 

• Who am I? 

• Why are we born?

• Why do we die? and, 

• Is there meaning in all this?

Disciplines like science, philosophy, and religion have wrestled mightily with these bottomless mysteries of being. Science focuses mainly on the mechanics of “how” - how the universe started, how consciousness arises from meat computers, etc. The humanities explore more subjective realms like meaning, ethics, and spirituality - the “why” questions that have significant implications for how we envision a well-lived life. Both the objective “hows” and subjective “whys” offer pieces to life’s puzzle, even when those pieces conflict.

These questions are not about our identity in the conventional sense. They’re not about our names or our affiliations. They’re about the essence of our being. What are we, as human beings? How do we function? Is there a separation between body, mind, and spirit, or are they integrated?

I’ve been driven by a passion for the unknown throughout my life. The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know, and this paradox is what fuels my thirst for knowledge. It’s a total cliché, I know, yet also profound if meditated upon. Children inhabit a stage where most stuff seems pretty figured out. Then education, experience, and the School of Hard Knocks unleash questions like hungry squirrels on a bird feeder. Suddenly, certainty gets replaced by complexity until even obvious stuff becomes dubitable.

When I entered my cynical teenager phase, I had an especially angsty go-round with existentialism. After losing faith in the religious ideology I’d grown up with, I suddenly found myself staring into the void with no predetermined answers to cling to.

I struggled profoundly to build my own framework of meaning from scratch. Plenty of sleepless nights tortured me with the notion that none of this really matters; we all die alone, and existence is meaningless sound and fury. I drove my poor friends nuts with morbid questions about the scariness of infinity and our collective insignificance in the face of deep time.

It was that painful brush with “the absurd” that eventually led me to therapy and modern philosophy as tools for constructing my own ethical reality tunnel. Once I accepted that there were no capital “T” truths waiting to explain my purpose and guide my actions, I discovered an odd sense of liberation. Making meaning for myself proved far more empowering than inheriting someone else’s arbitrary map for life.

These days, I have more questions than ever, along with twinges of that old existential dread. But I’ve learned anxiety arises less from not having all the answers and more from the struggle to accept that I may never have them at all. Letting go of that need for certainty has allowed me to embrace the mysterious beauty of being alive during our improbably brief stay.

Don’t Just Consume Experiences - Create Them

The constant barrage of commercials and advertising tempts us into a false equation: stuff + accomplishments = lasting happiness. Our consumer culture promises that enough money, travel experiences, Instagram followers or what you have will lead to fulfillment. But that allure of a destination-centric existence only breeds an unquenchable thirst for more. Real joy and meaning can only emerge organically from within, in those serendipitous moments when we leave production-minded mode to bask in presence.

Think about your most precious memories. Chances are they revolve around time spent wholeheartedly loving people and activities meaningful to you: bonding with friends and family, marveling at natural splendor, losing yourself in a craft or hobby, and volunteering for a cause close to your heart. These highlights stand out precisely because we inhabited them entirely rather than viewing them as checkpoints along life’s timeline.

I often meditate on that distinction using songwriting as an analogy. What makes music meaningful both to play and hear? It’s not ticking off boxes like learning enough chords or playing impressive guitar solos. No - it’s those magical moments when creative spirits collide, and you disappear into the collective groove. The rest is just a technique in service of those serendipitous artistic events.

Life itself works similarly. Meaning arises when we commit ourselves so unselfconsciously to the present experience that our usual egoic chatter fades away. Pursuing passions out of obligation or acclaim alone guarantees discontent while allowing us to follow intrinsic curiosity produces joy. 

My happiest musical experiences occurred when I stopped chasing external validation as a musician and instead played simply for playing’s sake. That day was my best performance ever, and it was pure joy.

This isn’t some new age platitude that everything should feel blissful and perfect all the time - suffering remains an unavoidable aspect of existence. But genuine fulfillment springs from fully participating in each stage of life’s nonlinear journey. Comparison truly makes us miserable by tricking us into seeking externally derived happiness. The marketing myths convince us that money, relationships, and kids will finally complete us. But lasting contentment blooms when we instead tend carefully to our unique garden, wherever we may find ourselves planted.

Peeling Back the Layers of Identity

As I reflect on the winding path of my life so far, clear patterns emerge in how I think, feel and behave. Taken together, these distinct ways of seeing the world suggest the existence of an inner “operating system” humming along to govern my personality. Tracing the origins of certain emotional reflexes or conduits of reactivity often leads back to formative childhood experiences still leaving their fingerprints today.

For example, growing up with a demanding father prone to angry outbursts planted core shame within me. When I fail to meet the unrealistic standards I set for myself, echoes of his voice still chime in, ensuring feelings of inadequacy. Behaving like a helpless people-pleaser in relationships also likely stems from placating volatile parents by becoming a model child. Their indirect message guided my neural pathways to associate love with earning approval through tireless work and perfectionism.

Beyond those familial influences, however, my basic personality wiring probably accounts for other enduring patterns of thought and behavior. As a highly sensitive introvert, I’m easily overwhelmed by too much sensory stimulation or social interaction. Obligatory small talk frankly exhausts me. Yet, get me philosophizing intensely with someone I click with, and I’ll chat until sunrise.

In the long term, denying one’s proper disposition exacts harm, as I learned the hard way. Pretending to be an extrovert brought anxiety, depression, and burnout. Once I finally permitted myself to be my genuine introverted self, layers of tension dissipated. My formula these days is alternate intervals of solitary creative work or reading that nourish me, with quality time conversing with close loved ones whose company energizes me. Balance indeed!

This continuous adventure of self-discovery never ends. Midlife contains as many new mysteries as my adolescence did. I recognize how aspects of my identity, once cordoned off from other compartments, now inform each other. Integrating my “professional personality” and “the self friends know” with more vulnerable private dimensions feels liberating and strange, like introducing old friends from different cities who never realized they had so much in common.

But much remains enshrouded by the fog of the subconscious. Questing to know ourselves sometimes seems akin to peering into dark waters rippled by unseen creatures. At first, only familiar silhouettes were visible on the surface - the egoic identity reflecting our name, roles, beliefs, and public masks. Yet below churn hidden depths of wonder and terror. As we gradually adjust our vision, entirely new landscapes emerge that make us question how well we know even our own being.

The Dark Corners Within  

Now, lest you think I dwell in perpetual bliss, having unlocked the meaning of life in tidy Hallmark fortune cookie quips—not so fast. Peering inward confronts us with messy dimensions that seem antithetical to conventional “happiness.” Hello, meet my inner demons!

If we look closely, we all have those destructive habits and hurtful impulses lurking in the subconscious cellars of self. Take me—no Dalai Lama here. I sometimes snap unfairly at loved ones when stress or sleep deprivation lowers my patience threshold. I can judge others quickly to bolster my own insecure ego. Spiteful, self-pitying, or melodramatic streaks still rear their heads on bad days despite years of personal growth work. 

In my younger years, I shoved all this ugly stuff into a lead-lined trunk buried deep in my psyche’s basement. But turns out toxic waste seeps through concrete walls over time. Self-medicating anxiety with workaholism, people-pleasing, and perfectionism eventually backfired. Burnout depression at age thirty forced me to stop and face the mess festering downstairs. 

It started with small spills—an offensive comment that hurt a friend, criticizing my daughter over nothing, just like my father did to me. Then, bigger ruptures erupted, revealing alarming aspects within myself. Slowly, I began releasing judgment and cultivating compassion towards ME. I embraced shadows through therapy and mindfulness instead of pretending to be some saintly version of togetherness. This remains an ongoing act of courage, curiosity, and self-honesty. 

Who am I beyond the projected identity that elicits superficial praise? It’s messy finding out. The work of authentic inner integration hews closer to a Jackson Pollock painting than an Instagram grid. But how peacefully we rest when the masks fall off and dwell wholly as we are. My inner life will never resemble a perfectly decorated showroom thanks to entropy and suffering being part of the deal here on Earth. But I can make space even for the brokenness, as I recognize it in others.

The Grand Cosmic Joke

At day’s end, I haven’t the faintest clue what this whole crazy ride called existence amounts to. The deeper I explore outer reality through science and inner truth through self-inquiry, the more flummoxed I become. I now hold way more significant questions than answers. But rather than despair at my ignorance, I’ve learned to embrace confusion as a promising starting point for further growth.

Once, a mentee of mine asked me how I planned my life to get where I am. I could see the admiration in his eyes, the desire to follow in my footsteps. I told him, “The truth is that I got where I am because everything I planned went wrong.”

I am what I am today by accident. I’ve been a physics and mathematics teacher, a musician, a waiter, an entrepreneur. Today, I’m just an old soul in a semi-new body, a soul that has more questions than answers.

The meaning of life is not static; it changes with the seasons of life. For me, it was once about fighting for a cause, then about loving a woman, then about being a father to my daughters. Sometimes, these meanings coexisted; sometimes, one took precedence over the others.

But now, the meaning I give to my life is different. It’s about answering a simple yet profound question: do I really know myself, or do I just live with myself?

I’ve come to realize that happiness, as it’s often portrayed, is an illusion. The modern world sells us the idea that happiness lies in material possessions, financial success, titles, and accolades. But I believe that true happiness is about finding joy in our journey, a journey that’s unique to each of us. So why should we try to replicate someone else’s journey as our own?

Sartre had it right - we arrive as confused babies mewling at the abyss, responsibilities foisted upon us never requested. Quality of life boils down to how enthusiastically we grab the brush before us and splash color wildly across our blank canvas. We craft our life essence through the choices we make wandering the forest for edible mushrooms, never certain what’s poison and what’s a delicacy. But as long as we feel fully alive along the way, meaning will emerge organically through unpredictable moments of transcendent connection and awe interspersed between survival-oriented tasks.

So don’t stress too much about whether or not you’ll solve life’s cosmic riddle by the time they stick you in a box. We’re all essentially just making things up as we bumble along together on this strange journey. Keep chasing what captivates your soul, embrace help from fellow travelers when lost, and always remember to pack a towel.

I still spend more time pondering life’s riddles than solving them. But Aristotle and Sartre taught me that happiness lies not in definitive answers but in the quest itself—finding purpose daily while embracing confusion as the start of growth.