If You Want to Be Happy, Learn to Love the Little Things Cover

If You Want to Be Happy, Learn to Love the Little Things

I’ll never forget the day I got to drive my friend’s Ferrari. I had been staring at Ferrari posters in my bedroom since I was five, so it was a dream come true.

I’ll also never forget what he told me a few years later: “The car now means absolutely nothing to me. I’ve grown 100% used to it. It’s sad, isn’t it?” He sold it soon after that.

The only car I’ve ever owned was a first-generation BMW 1 Series. Here’s a picture from the day I picked it up:

For many people in Germany, even people my age — and even back then — a car like this was nothing special. But to me it was.

I still remember the unique government program that made it affordable, the sound of the handles when opening the doors, and the feel of the materials inside. I remember the whirring of the engine, the vibration of the tires rolling around a corner, and the click of the locks opening as I pressed the button on my remote control key.

It was always a good moment, approaching the car. I saw it standing there, always in the same corner of the square in front of our house, always ready for another adventure. I knew we were about to embark on a new journey together, and that made me happy. Would it be a short trip to the gas station? A long drive back to college? Whichever it was, I knew I had my Bavarian companion to rely on. Music on, sunroof open, gears falling into place.

I only owned that car for two years, but I never got tired of it. I always enjoyed climbing into the driver’s seat once again. How can one person grow completely indifferent to a Ferrari, while another cherishes every second with their tiny BMW? “Well, you’re a car nut, Nik! It’s easy for you to enjoy any car,” you might say, and to that I can only respond, “You’re probably right.”

Then again, I’ve had that same, joyously-approaching-the-car-feeling many times since selling my BMW — and that was ten years ago. Therefore, I have a theory: I think I’ve learned to love the little things.

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There Are Only 3 Ways to Live a Happy Life

What happens after you die?

In his book Sum, neuroscientist David Eagleman provides 40 different, often contradicting answers to that question — some harrowing, others hilarious. What if God allowed everyone into heaven, but then we’d all complain about being stuck there with one another, concluding it is, in fact, hell? What if God turns out to be a microbe, completely unaware humans even exist?

Maybe you’ll continue life in a world inhabited only by the people you already know or be forced to live each moment again, grouped by similarity. Four months of sitting on the toilet followed by three weeks of eating pizza, after which you’ll have 24 hours of nonstop stomach cramps before sleeping for 30 years straight.

Despite conjuring stories that happen exclusively in a place from which we can’t return, (and that we therefore know nothing about) Sum holds profound implications about what we might choose to do in the here and now. The mere idea of accidentally becoming a horse in your next life, realizing only in the last second how great it was to be human, could be the exact hoof kick you need to finally start writing your novel, for example.

Sum is Derek Sivers’ single-favorite book of all time. Whichever specific tale it may have been that spurred him into action, one day, he decided to write a book just like it, except he’d answer a different question — a question even more important than what’s beyond death, with even greater indications: While we are on this earth, how should we live?

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Don’t Set Goals This Year

The more New Year’s resolutions you set, the faster you’ll feel like a failure.

I used to pick five, seven, ten new goals each year. Sadly, making it from New Year’s Eve to January 1st never turned me into Superman. I was still the same old me, still hopelessly overwhelmed with trying to change too much all at once. Within a month or so, I failed and had to start over. Smaller. With lower expectations.

For a few years, I gave up on resolutions entirely. Then, instead of a barrage of targets, I tried setting one goal, and that worked a lot better. The real game-changer, however, was using a different concept altogether. That concept is a theme.

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As the World Reopens, Don’t Forget To Empty Your Cup

I. Pagliacci

In the movie Watchmen, the character Rorschach tells the following story:

Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, “Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says, “But doctor…I am Pagliacci.”

The uncertainty the poor clown feels closing in around himself is a major theme of the movie — an exploration of existential dread and how to live with it. Ozymandias, the main antagonist and smartest man on earth, banks on the world seeking the doctor’s prescribed treatment for his plan to succeed:

“In an era of stress and anxiety, when the present seems unstable and the future unlikely, the natural response is to retreat and withdraw from reality, taking recourse either in fantasies of the future or in modified visions of a half-imagined past.”

Ozymandias uses and reinforces people’s desire to escape by selling them a vast array of consumer products, for example a perfume called Nostalgia, which in turn fund his master plan — and boy, would Ozymandias have loved coronavirus. He’d have thought it to be ripe with opportunity.

What did you do when the crisis first hit? How did you react? Regardless if you buried yourself in work, parenting, hobbies, or distractions, chances are, you buried yourself in something, and thus, your head ended up in the sand. Depending on the crisis, this may — surprisingly — be a healthy thing to do. Six months into the pandemic, however, Tara Haelle explained why you might have suddenly felt tired — your “surge capacity” was depleted:

Surge capacity is a collection of adaptive systems — mental and physical — that humans draw on for short-term survival in acutely stressful situations, such as natural disasters. But natural disasters occur over a short period, even if recovery is long. Pandemics are different — the disaster itself stretches out indefinitely.

“How do you adjust to an ever-changing situation where the “new normal” is indefinite uncertainty?” Haelle asks. The answer is you don’t, at least not just once, and so irrespective of whether you initially rallied around safety measures, home workouts, getting a promotion, assembling IKEA furniture, or watching movies like Watchmen, your rallying never could have lasted.

A response meant for catastrophe won’t do for a new status quo, and so no matter how deep we may bury its tip beneath the surface, that massive iceberg of uncertainty is still there, still hiding underneath, and when it comes out — and it will — it might crush us like an elephant stepping on an ant.

Tell me you haven’t asked yourself any of the following: Will we get a third wave? A fourth one? What about oxygen? What about shortages? When will I get my vaccine? How much protection will it give me? How long will it last? Will it be required? Directly? Indirectly? What will I be able to do with it? How will “doing stuff” work? When will it reopen? The cinema? The swimming pool? The museum? The office? And what will it be like? This, my friend, is the tip of that iceberg, so if you’re anything like me, PCSD — post-corona stress syndrome — has already crept in. The elephant has long been in the room.

Questions, questions, questions without end. Where those about the virus stop, the existential ones merely begin. We are uncertain about our health, uncertain about our jobs, uncertain about our retirement. We have doubts about the school system, the financial system, definitely the political system, and, really, any system of any kind. We no longer trust in people, for those could be infectious. We never fully trusted the machines, for those are prone to our own errors. And do we trust ourselves? However much you used to, don’t tell me there’s not a crack in that armor.

All in all, that’s a lot to process, and you know what? It’s okay to be scared. I know I am. I’m crapping my pants over here. Not literally, but, metaphorically, on some days, I’m all poop emojis. And not the smiling kind.

Of course, what we should have done over the past year is learn to accept uncertainty. It really would have been a good time. To “live in the question,” as poet Rainer Maria Rilke once said, and “have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart.” Instead, most of us have become paranoid, seeking reassurance at every turn. We double-stitch every scratch when a band-aid would do, and then we still go up in anger when the backup of our backup plan fails — and, like in Ozymandias’ great master plan, that’s exactly what uncertainty wants to achieve.

Uncertainty wants to make you tired before you’ve even begun. Its goal is to keep you in place, and, for the past year, uncertainty has had a field day with you. Stay! Good dog. Don’t move a muscle! Breathe shallowly, and wait. Wait for what, however? Until you die? Listening to uncertainty is a fool’s errand. If you don’t move, nothing will happen. Without action, no real errands will get done. And yet, that iceberg looms ever larger, its shadow becoming more paralyzing with every sunset.

There’s another character in the Watchmen movie. His name is Dr. Manhattan. Think Silver Surfer meets Superman, a sorta-naked, blue demigod who can teleport, read minds, see his own past and future, travel between dimensions, disintegrate people on thought, and lots of other fun stuff. Dr. Manhattan tells Ozymandias: “The world’s smartest man poses no more threat to me than does its smartest termite.” The great irony is that, at that point in the movie, Ozymandias’ threat has long been fulfilled — and he tricked everyone, including Dr. Manhattan, into helping him accomplish his quest: sacrificing millions of lives in the hopes of preserving billions more.

In what can’t be a coincidence, Ozymandias calls his plan “the greatest practical joke in human history,” and the message it sends is clear: Even the best of the best can’t fully escape uncertainty. We’re all Pagliacci, and so from time to time, inevitably, we’ll all burst into tears.

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Are You Swimming With or Against the Current of Life?

In his book The Cafe on the Edge of the World, John Strelecky tells the story of a man in a hurry.

The man, a busy professional also named John, is stuck in a massive traffic jam en route to his much needed vacation. When he tries to circumvent the roadblock, he gets lost and, running out of fuel, energy, and growing ever hungrier, turns in to a cafe in the middle of nowhere — The Cafe of Questions.

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You Don’t Need New Friends

A few weeks ago, I messaged an old friend. After some chit chat, she said: “We should catch up some time!” Instead of agreeing with the usual “For sure!” that never leads to anything, this time, I did something different: Right then and there, I hit the call button — and we talked for 20 minutes.

We talked about our careers, about the compromises in our relationships, and about how the pandemic has affected us. We talked about our plans, the memories of our time together, and about how we can’t believe it’s been eight years since we saw each other in person.

It was a deep, fun, and invigorating conversation, and that’s why, unlike many others, I still remember it today. When I reflected on the experience later, I realized: I have hit the stage in life where I don’t need new friends — I need to make sure I don’t lose the friends I have.

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Why I Quit My Substack After 6 Weeks and $3,700 in Revenue

If you don’t separate what’s working from what you wish was working, you’ll never commit to the right projects. This is a story about learning to tell the difference.


On January 11th, I started a freemium newsletter. I called it “You — A daily email full of inspiration, smart ideas, and emotional support for the most important person in your life.

Three times a week, it was free. For two extra editions, plus audio recordings, plus community interaction, you had to pay. I launched with a discounted rate of $5/month or $50/year, which later went up to $7/$70. I started with 27,000 email subscribers, painstakingly acquired over the last seven years.

After six weeks, I had about 70 paying customers, for a projected annual revenue of about $3,700. I took a week off for my 30th birthday — and then I quit. I refunded everyone and shut the project down.

Here’s why in 5 lessons.

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You Will Learn To Love the Work You Choose

Our brain turns memories into stories. The difference is that a story will always make sense, while your memories may not.

If you’ve ever told an anecdote at a party and left out a tiny detail in service of the punchline, you know what I’m talking about. Maybe, the car had already stopped when you jumped in to save the puppy. Maybe, the wall you climbed wasn’t all that high. Shhhhh! It’s ok. I won’t tell anyone.

The most curious aspect of this is that the more you retell a story, the more polished it becomes. With every iteration, your memories warp a little more to match the consistency of the story — until the line between them gets so blurry, you start believing the story is the memory. That’s how strong our brain’s desire for coherence is.

While it’s harmless to take some liberties with a childhood adventure to make others laugh, when it comes to your career, you must resist your brain’s addiction to narratives.

If you don’t, one day, you’ll no longer be able to make good decisions — simply because they don’t fit the story arc you’ve created in your mind.

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Today Is Gonna Be Your Day

You wake up. You’re eight years old. It’s your birthday. How excited are you?

I’ll tell you how excited you are: Right now, your zest for life is an 11 out of 10. Heck, it might be a 15. I think you should live your life as if it’s your eighth birthday every day. At least once a week.

Psychologically, there’s no reason you can’t. That’s all life is. Psychology. Identifying, managing, changing your emotions — and then projecting what you have procured upon the world. Seriously. Try it.

Smash your alarm with the force of Thor’s hammer. Don’t roll over in bed. Jump out! JUMP! Try the 5 second rule: 5…4…3…2…1 — GO!

Play music. Pick a song that makes you feel unstoppable. Like this one. Or this one. Or this one. Blast it on repeat. Put on headphones. Don’t stop. You’re a train of joy, and you’re just leaving the station.

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Your Value Doesn’t Change If Your Circumstances Do

One day, the teacher brought a $100 bill to school. He showed it to the class and asked: “How much is this worth?”

“$100,” the class said in unison.

The teacher crumpled up the bill, then held it in the palm of his hand. Once again, he asked: “How much is this worth?”

“$100,” the students said.

The teacher threw the bill on the ground and asked: “How much is it worth now?”

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