I’ve spent a lot of time chasing “happy.” You probably have too. Happy is fragile and fleeting. It’s a bit like intimacy. You get hold of it for a minute, and then it slips away from you the next.
Three times in the last 3 years, I’ve broken down in front of my therapist when asked or when discussing “if I feel hopeful”. Happiness and hope are similar. Happiness can be experienced on a surface level without being deeply touched. Hope, on the other hand, is something else. If my therapist had asked me if I was happy, I probably would have said something along the lines of “I’m happy sometimes or often. I have glimpses of happiness throughout the day, even when I feel discouraged or depressed.”
When asked if I was hopeful, I froze. I couldn’t get any words to come out of my mouth. Tears suddenly flowed, and my voice cracked if I tried to say something.
It seems the depth of happiness greatly depends on the source of our hope.
We say we are happy, or that we want to be, but what does that even mean? Is it smiling without trying? Is it the absence of pain? Is it a feeling of wholeness, contentment, or carefree?
Kelsey Lamb sings, “Might be time that I admit, I don’t know what happy is.” That line hit me. Because I feel it. I’ve laughed out loud while feeling empty. I’ve had everything I thought I needed and still wondered why I wasn’t okay.
What is happiness? Is it something you work your way toward? Is it a state of being that you can reach once certain elements are in place? Perhaps happiness isn’t something you get to. It’s not a destination.
Maybe it’s something that sneaks up on you while you’re living something deeper.
What If Happy Isn’t What We Think?
Jesus once sat on a hillside, looked at a crowd of confused, tired, hopeful people—and began to describe what we now call the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3–12).
The Greek word used there—makarios—is often translated blessed, but it actually leans closer to happy.
But not the kind of happy you find on Instagram.
He said:
Happy are the poor in spirit.
Happy are those who mourn.
Happy are the meek.
Happy are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.
Happy are the merciful.
Happy are the pure in heart.
Happy are the peacemakers.
Happy are the persecuted.
Wait… what?
That list doesn’t exactly scream #blessed.
It reads more like a list of people who are aching for something.
People who’ve been knocked down, who are reaching out, who feel the weight of the world—but who haven’t stopped hoping.
What the Thinkers Say
We’ve always tried to define happiness.
Modern voices echo this tension:
“Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions.”
— Dalai Lama
“The more you try to be happy, the less happy you are. It’s like trying to fall asleep.”
— Viktor Frankl
“There’s no such thing as a permanent state of happiness. It’s a byproduct of how you live, not something you achieve and keep.”
— Mark Manson
“Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.”
— Mahatma Gandhi
These aren’t formulas.
They’re invitations to live more presently, more honestly, more courageously.
To stop chasing and start becoming.
Maybe This Is It
Maybe real happy isn’t found when everything is going right.
Maybe it’s found when you’re rooted in something deeper than your circumstances.
When your joy isn’t fragile.
When your peace doesn’t disappear just because your plans do.
I’ve come to believe that happiness isn’t the absence of sadness.
It’s the presence of something stronger.
Something like purpose.
Something like love.
Something like grace.
Something like trust—that even when I don’t have it all together, I am not alone in this mess.
Maybe something, or someone, like Jesus.
I don’t know about you, but I’m curious about those beatitudes. Perhaps they deserve a deeper look. We’ll come back to them in future posts.
The Pursuit of Happyness
At the end of the film The Pursuit of Happyness, Chris Gardner (played by Will Smith) finally gets the call he’s been desperately waiting for.
After months of unpaid internships, sleeping in subway bathrooms, and holding his son’s hand through homelessness, he is offered the job that changes his life.
As he walks through the crowd—tears in his eyes, trying to hold it together—he narrates:
“This part of my life… this little part… is called happiness.”
That moment is brief.
Quiet.
Hard-earned.
There’s no confetti. No epic music.
Just a man who knows what it cost to feel this moment.
That’s what makes it real.
Maybe that’s what Jesus was talking about on that hillside.
Not the kind of happy that floats on the surface,
but the kind that’s forged in fire.
The kind that knows pain, loss, waiting—and still dares to hope.
So What Now?
If you’re chasing happy and coming up empty—pause.
If you’re hurting and think happiness is off-limits—pause.
If you think faith should always feel like sunshine—pause.
Happiness may not always look like joy.
It might look like peace in the storm.
It might look like choosing love when bitterness feels easier.
It might look like walking through the mess with your head held high.
Maybe happy isn’t a destination. Maybe it’s a companion on the journey.
Reflection Question:
When in your life have you felt “happy” in a way that surprised you—when the circumstances didn’t seem to call for it?
What do you think?