Why I No Longer Ask Myself If I’m Happy

Amid the pomp and spectacle of consumerism and the curated, glossy lives displayed on social media, the simplicity of life seems to have faded. If it has not vanished entirely, it has certainly become rare. With every product, every lifestyle, and every experience pushed toward us, our perception of the world shifts, subtly, persistently. Life begins to feel vast, overflowing, and we are quietly expected to make ours equally large, equally eventful.

Even when no product or service explicitly pushes this idea, the human mind does the rest. The edges of our perceived universe expand. And somewhere along the way, the thought creeps in: my life feels small. Small in comparison to this enormous world filled with endless things to acquire, places to visit, and experiences to chase.

Of course, this comparison is flawed from the start. We are not comparing ourselves to life itself, but to a collage of moments shared by millions of people, millions of different lives, compressed into a constant stream. Against that scale, how could one life ever feel sufficient? How could one person live the life of a million?

Yet that crucial thought is often lost, especially on a generation exposed to such comparisons early and continuously. Slowly, the idea that our lives are somehow inadequate takes root. And thus begins the familiar pursuit: the next thing, the next big experience, the next version of ourselves. As we chase, we remain tethered to countless other lives doing the same and just as we catch up, another million appear ahead of us.

This is not an anti-consumerist rant, nor an attack on any system. I am just one person, and my views will not ripple far. But as I write this, I hope that even one person might pause long enough to notice the illusion at play. To see it clearly. What they do with that understanding is entirely their choice. Intentional living, however, might offer more satisfaction than drifting through the vast ocean of comparison, following someone else who may not know where land lies either.

Today, I stood watching two cats play in my corridor.

They leapt from a shoe rack to a box, clawed at a sandal, tugged at each other’s tails, and rolled across the floor. I watched them without intention or expectation. Time slipped by, I stood there for what felt like half an hour. I could have stayed longer, but chores eventually called me away.

As I returned to the mundane rhythm of the day, I noticed something unusual. I felt lighter. Not physically, though I wish, but mentally, perhaps even emotionally. Somewhere in that quiet shift of awareness, I reached a simple conclusion: I was happy. And all it took was watching two cats enjoy themselves.

That realization startled me. How could something so simple, so ordinary, bring peace to a mind shaped by thousands of years of evolution? Wasn’t this brain meant to conquer, to build, to achieve grand things?

Happiness has become such an abstract concept that asking someone “Are you happy?” often produces discomfort. A pause. A strained laugh. A shrug followed by deflection or self-deprecating humor. That moment tells us more than the words that follow. It suggests that many of us are not quite ready to ask that question of ourselves.

There are exceptions, of course. And I am grateful for them. But when I think back, I struggle to remember the last time I encountered someone who seemed genuinely content, at ease with themselves and the moment they were in. Perhaps I noticed one person last year. Perhaps. I say that cautiously.

I am not advocating nihilism. On the contrary, I would love to meet more people who feel rooted in contentment. What I am suggesting is simpler: perhaps we are overlooking the simplicity of happiness itself.

John Stuart Mill once wrote, “Ask yourself whether you are happy, then you cease to be so.” I have found this to be true. Whenever happiness becomes the primary object of introspection, it seems to slip away.

There have been times when I had every reason to be happy and yet felt lacking. I used to grow angry at myself for it, Why am I not happy? Lately, I have changed the question. Instead of asking whether I am happy, I ask whether I am grateful.

And the answer is never no.

I have people, experiences, opportunities, small and large, for which I am grateful. When I focus on them, gratitude often gives rise to a warm, quiet feeling. It may not be happiness in its grand sense, but it edges close enough. Perhaps happiness, then, is not something to be pursued directly, but something that appears as a byproduct of gratitude.

Life, of course, is not all roses. It never has been, for anyone. And perhaps it isn’t meant to be. Would light have meaning if darkness did not exist? The world’s contrasts give shape to our experiences.

If happiness feels elusive, ask yourself something gentler: Is there anything, anything at all, I am grateful for? Even the smallest detail, when noticed consistently, can take root. Over time, that seed grows. Not into constant happiness, but into something steadier. Something warm.

And perhaps, someday, happiness will quietly follow.

Of course, you may disagree with everything I have said. You may find it naive, irrelevant, or entirely unrelatable. That is perfectly fine. Our worldviews are shaped by different lives and circumstances. We don’t need to agree to exist alongside one another. What rarely hurts, though, is pausing to look at life from another angle. It costs us nothing. Often, we stay where we are not because it is right, but because it is familiar, or because it has worked until now.

If we loosen our grip, even slightly, we might find a gentler way of seeing - one that brings a quiet kind of peace, fitting for this moment in life. After all, what once carried us forward may not always do so. And if that’s the case, what do we really lose by trying a new way of looking?

This is simply something that helped me along the way.

I hope, someday, it helps someone else too.

TL;DR

In a world shaped by consumerism and constant comparison, happiness often feels elusive - not because it is rare, but because we chase it directly. Comparing one life to fragments of millions creates an illusion of inadequacy, pushing us toward endless pursuit. Watching two cats play reminded me that happiness can emerge from simplicity, without intention or expectation. I’ve found that asking “Am I happy?” often dissolves the feeling itself, but asking “Am I grateful?” leads to something quieter and more sustainable. Gratitude, noticed consistently, may not guarantee happiness—but it creates the conditions for it to arrive on its own.