“Hapiness is as exclusive as a butterfly, and you must never pursue it. If you stay very still, it may come and settle on your hand. But only briefly. Savour those moments, for they will not come in your way very often.“
– Ruskin Bond
“Love all. Play.”
Ten years ago, my teammates and I huddled around the television to watch the 2016 Olympic finals—a battle between the two most formidable players in badminton history: Lee Chong Wei and Lin Dan. After an epic 3-game encounter, Lee Chong Wei jumps up with joy before falling to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He seemed exhilarated. Ecstatic. Happy.
Recently, I participated in an intercollegiate tournament at my university. After 3 days of hard-fought matches, I emerged as the winner in the “Women’s Singles” category. I thought winning would hit me with the same surge of emotion that Wei’s win did. I waited for that moment when I would run towards my friends and embrace them in a bone-crushing hug. Or a smile so wide it would make my cheeks hurt. Or an emotional declaration of my win to my mom over a phone call.
But none of it came.
Instead, I felt…nothing. Just relief. Relief that those long, arduous days of early-morning matches, spent inside stifling, oven-like courts, had finally come to an end.
My mind niggled at the reminder of a quiz I had the very next day. A feeling of dejection slowly crept in as I recalled the two finals that I had lost. As I sat in the open amphitheater, waiting for the prize ceremony to commence, contemplating the strange, rather frustrating dichotomy of my situation, my train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a friend beside me.
“Rishita, why do you look so sad?”
A few silent seconds passed as I searched for an answer to a question that suddenly seemed unanswerable.
“Oh, nothing, I’m just tired”, I replied, plastering a weak smile on my face—an expression convincing enough to put an end to her prying questions.
As I walked on stage, my happiness surfaced briefly at the sight of a trophy. But even with the weight of a medal hanging loosely against my chest and a trophy in one hand, my mind felt somewhat disconnected from my heart. Within seconds, those tiny waves of happiness, fleeting as they were, were soon drowned out by the roar of a thousand cheers.
In a society that is fast-paced and ever-changing, we move through our lives in a blur. We achieve one goal only to find ourselves chasing a far bigger one the very next day. We make excursion plans with our friends, only for those bursts of laughter to fizzle out the moment we set foot on campus. We dread the week, waiting for the weekend to arrive, only to watch Sunday slip right through our fingers.
Throughout the day, my mind kept replaying rallies from the two matches that I lost. I was so consumed by the thought of what I could have done better that the weight of those losses began to overshadow the joy that came with winning.
So, I did what everyone does when in doubt. Go on the internet.
Cursor hovering over the search bar, I hastily type something so trivial that Google itself would probably think I’m having an existential crisis: “How to be happy”.
Google suggested that our proclivity towards sadness can be explained by a cognitive bias we all tend to exhibit—the “negativity bias”. As humans, we are wired to give more weight to negative experiences than positive ones.
But that doesn’t mean we dwell on our shortcomings constantly. Just like how biological systems reach equilibrium, our emotions, too, gradually reach homeostasis. The point is, every moment, good and bad, is impermanent because there is no assurance that it can ever be experienced again. And that impermanence is what makes them valuable.
As I continued my search, I came across a video by Harvard professor Arthur Brooks, in which he argues that true happiness consists of three “macronutrients”: enjoyment, satisfaction, and purpose.
Enjoyment refers to immediate pleasure paired with conscious awareness. The ability to feel the moment as it unfolds. It means celebrating your win wholeheartedly. Or truly enjoying a conversation you have with a friend without diluting your presence by glancing at your phone screen every now and then. And in doing so, we realize that even the tiniest of moments deserve to be fully cherished.
Satisfaction is the joy derived from the translation of one’s effort into a positive outcome. It’s the fulfillment derived from completing an assignment you’ve struggled with, improving your performance in a sport after weeks of practice, or skeptically throwing yourself outside your comfort zone only for things to pan out far better than you could have ever imagined.
Purpose, though often elusive, entails having a sense of direction and meaning. In college, it might mean choosing a career path, building a skill set, or working toward long-term goals. Having a sense of direction gives structure to our otherwise chaotic lives.
Yet, in today’s world, enjoyment often feels shallow, satisfaction is short-lived, and finding one’s purpose feels less like a liberating path to self-discovery and more like a complex maze that leaves you feeling more confused than ever. A good grade quickly becomes “not good enough,” and personal progress gets overshadowed by comparison.
Amidst all these thoughtful insights, I soon realized that positive moments, ones as significant as my win, are just as ephemeral. And if not fully savoured, I risk missing out on the richness and depth they have to offer. It is in truly being present that we cultivate the quality of gratefulness, and that, perhaps, is where real happiness resides.
Long after the ceremony ended and the cheers of the crowd died out, a quiet voice within me whispered:
Rishita, who cares that you lost those matches? Winning and losing are all part of the game. Despite it all, you persisted and emerged as a winner! That’s what truly matters. Now go enjoy your victory and treat yourself to those delicious waffles you’ve been craving all day!
Suddenly, the corners of my lips slowly stretch into a full-blown smile.
And this time, it wasn’t forced.