Everyone tells you to chase after what you want. Chase your dreams. Chase love. Chase happiness. It sounds inspiring, right? If only you could just run fast enough, eventually you’ll catch what you’re looking for. But the more I think about it, the more I realize the chase itself can be the biggest mistake. Because when you’re so focused on running after something, you don’t always stop to ask if it’s even the right thing for you, you get sucked into the adrenaline, and if you don’t stop to look around at your surroundings, you could fall, get hurt, or wonder if it’s supposed to be chased in the first place.
Take love, for example. We’ve all been there, right? Liking someone so much that you start bending yourself into shapes you didn’t even know were possible, like a contortionist, just hoping they’ll notice you. You overthink texts, dress differently, maybe even act like someone you’re not. And sure, maybe they like you back for a while, but deep down, you know it’s not really you they’re liking. It’s the version of yourself you created for the chase. And it doesn’t last.
Love isn’t about chasing someone down until they finally give in. It’s about two people walking toward each other, not one person doing all the running while the other just stands there waiting to be caught. You’re not play-dough, you can’t mold and change your shape just to fit someone else’s puzzle.
The same thing happens with happiness. We’re told to chase it like it’s some kind of trophy at the finish line. Once you have the right job, the right relationship, the right lifestyle, then you’ll finally be happy. But happiness doesn’t work like that. I’ve learned that the harder you chase it, the more it slips away. It’s like trying to hold water in your hands; the tighter you squeeze, the faster it drains out.
Happiness isn’t some big dramatic moment; it’s found in small things: laughing until your stomach hurts, late-night drives with music blasting, or just having a calm morning where you don’t feel rushed. The chase makes you miss those moments because you’re too busy sprinting toward something bigger.
That’s the mistake of the chase. It convinces you that love and happiness are far ahead of you, just out of reach, if you would just try harder, do better, be better. But the truth is, they’re not something you run after; they’re things you grow into. They meet you when you’re being yourself, not when you’re chasing and morphing shape.
But don’t take this as me saying, “it’ll come when you least expect it” — that cliché misses the point. Just don’t stand still forever; keep moving, but there is no need to run. Walk, enjoy the scenery, pick some flowers, smell them, feed the ducks, and save the chubby worms that are lying in the middle of the sidewalk.
I guess what I’ve learned is that the chase might feel exciting, but it’s not sustainable. Love and happiness shouldn’t feel like a marathon; they should feel like home. And if you’re too busy running, you might just miss the very things that were standing right in front of you all along.