thoughts about chasing joy
As a population, we’ve developed a strange habit of trying to maximize joy—as if it were just another metric to optimize akin to “health” or “academics.” Joy isn’t some resource to extract or a skill that can be levelled up—it’s something that can only occur when we’re not seeking it actively. Yet here we are, armed with a maximalist greed for entertainment and optimization strategies for fun.
Recently, my family travelled to China. My parents were ecstatic for the trip—it was my first time “returning home”—and generated considerable anticipation beforehand. The tour they planned across China covered everything they could reasonably fit in our timeline. We met with family, visited some essential sites Americans expect to see, the different ones Chinese locals prefer (to our benefit and detriment), and explored locations important to my family history. But, in reflecting on this trip, the moments I recall most fondly were spontaneous.
In Shanghai, for instance, the Oriental Pearl Tower was fine, but striking corny poses with my brother in front of an Ultraman statue is what I’ll remember. The same pattern emerged across almost every destination. Wuzhen was breathtaking but so was finding ways to photobomb my mother without her knowledge. Suzhou was pleasant, but the real joy came when mom discovered the photobombs later and we all dissolved into laughter about them. No amount of engineering could have produced such genuine delight.
From this, I consider the incompatibility of joy and its direct pursuit/optimization intuitive.1 Joy is something that vanishes the moment you turn to examine it directly—like trying to see your own eyes.2 On the other hand, optimization requires self-consciousness and introspection, a stepping outside of the experience to evaluate and improve it. These are often virtuous attributes, but in the moment, it kills the authentic experiential state where joy is possible. You can’t simultaneously be fully present in a moment and calculating how to make it better. Indeed, I’ve found that when we become conscious of a magical moment or of how our present experience compares to its presentation in our imagination, the moment is hollowed.
We’re living for joy as an aesthetic, measuring it against other people and options, rather than simply living joyfully. Our relentless focus on making everything better is the exact barrier between us and what we’re seeking. Let it go.
I don’t claim that every experience is identical to mine or that planned experiences are miserable per se, simply that authentic joy often emerges from authentic interactions rather than over-structured itineraries. In fact, I would readily concede that sketching out broad plans—such as deciding “let's go to X” where X is some novel site or experience—is conducive to authentic joy. My opposition is to the general trend of attempting to optimize and micromanage “fun.”↩
A line inspired by C.S. Lewis.↩