Do You Live In a World of Destination Happiness?

 

Photo by Datingjungle on Unsplash

Have you ever caught yourself saying, “I’ll be happen when. . .” or “Life will be better after. . .”?

• I’ll be happy once I get that promotion.
• I’ll finally feel whole when I’m in a steady relationship.
• Life will be perfect when I buy my dream house.

Most of us have been there: living in a world where the destination is the happiness, a place where joy, or at least satisfaction, are always just up ahead; a future destination you just haven’t quite reached yet.

Here’s the real question, though: What if happiness isn’t waiting at some future stop? What if it’s actually riding along with you right now?

What Is Destination Happiness?

Destination happiness is the habit of tying emotional fulfillment to achieving specific milestones or acquiring particular things. It’s this perpetual cycle of believing happiness lives somewhere other than in the present moment. The problem is, once you reach that magical milestone or acquire that coveted thing, you realize the satisfaction doesn’t last long. Soon enough, you’re off chasing the next destination, leaving you stuck in an endless loop of chasing happiness without truly experiencing it.

That’s exhausting!

It makes me think of some profound words written by Paul to the Philippians:

I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: everywhere and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.

When I read that, I get a sense of the ironic. When we listen to enough talking heads, you start to see that we’re being pulled in opposing directions all the time: full and hungry, abound and suffer.

The Problem with Chasing Destinations

When we attach our happiness to destinations, we unintentionally rob ourselves of joy right now. Consider how much of life we might miss because we’re constantly focused on the horizon. Think about it:

• Did that promotion really give you lasting happiness? Or did you just start craving the next raise, the next title?
• Did the new house truly fulfill you? Or did it become another responsibility, another stressor?
• Has finding a relationship permanently ended your search for happiness? Or are you already wondering if something else might finally fill that gap?

It’s not that goals and achievements are inherently bad; they’re fantastic motivators. The issue arises when happiness depends solely on reaching a destination. That causes happiness to become conditional, fleeting, and frustratingly elusive.

Why We Get Stuck in Destination Happiness

Our culture constantly nudges us toward destinations. Social media highlights success stories, promotions, extravagant vacations, dream relationships — endless symbols of achievement that scream: This is happiness! But hardly anyone posts the messy, everyday stuff that makes up most of our lives. We begin to mistake snapshots of other people’s highlights for sustained (and real) happiness, fueling our own endless chase.

This phenomenon is reinforced by consumer culture, which thrives on dissatisfaction and keeps us forever running after the next best thing. Every new phone or latest model car promises to deliver lasting happiness. But how long does that new-thing joy really last?

Maybe a month. Maybe a week. Maybe a day.

Then we’re back chasing the next hit of happiness.

Shifting Mindset: Embracing the Journey

So, what’s the alternative?

Simple: learn to embrace the journey.

Okay, it’s simple to say, but let’s be real: we’re fighting a tremendous current to break free of destination happiness.

Here’s the thing, though. Happiness isn’t a destination; it’s something you cultivate and nurture every day. It’s in little moments like laughing with friends, sipping your morning Dr. Pepper Zero Sugar, feeling the warmth of sunlight as winter finally (maybe) draws to a close, hearing a song that moves you deeply (like Enough by GENTRI or My Name Is Barbossa from Pirates of the Caribbean).

Start with shifting your focus from what will be to what is. Be grateful for the small moments and achievements already around you. Happiness so often arises from appreciating these simple, everyday moments, not just the big milestones.

Having struggled with destination happiness for much of my life, here are three things I’m going to try starting today:

• Daily reflections: Every evening, jot down three small things you enjoyed about the day. Notice the details — like the feel of fresh air, a compliment from a coworker, or just the quiet joy of reading a good book.
• Mindfulness: Pause throughout your day and intentionally focus on the moment. Feel your feet on the ground, take a deep breath, or savor the taste of your lunch without distractions. (I can’t remember the last time I ate lunch without doing something else.)
• Celebrate small wins: Instead of waiting for a big victory to reward yourself, celebrate smaller, daily achievements. These little celebrations keep you rooted in the present and encourage appreciation for ongoing progress.

Breaking Free From the Cycle

Ultimately, breaking free from the cycle of destination happiness means redefining success and fulfillment on your terms. It doesn’t mean abandoning goals; but, it does involve recognizing that happiness and ambition can coexist.

Goals then become guideposts, not final destinations. Fulfillment isn’t found at some future place because it’s cultivated every step of the way.

Imagine what would happen if, instead of saying “I’ll be happy when…,” you said, “I’m happy while…” — while building a career, while seeking meaningful connections, while growing into who you want to become.

How might your life change if you started experiencing happiness not as something to chase, but as something to embrace right now?

Maybe, just maybe, happiness is closer than you think.

Intention to Impact, One Step at a Time

 

Photo by Nubelson Fernandes on Unsplash

Grandma sat in her wheelchair, staring out the window but not really seeing. Both of our eyes were moist with tears. Hers, I think, were a mixture of grief and anger. Mine, confused and tender.

My mom — her daughter — was just six weeks shy of her 40th birthday when she passed away. I suppose it had been about a year and a half since her passing when I found myself sitting at my grandmother’s kitchen table.

Our conversation that day centered on my mother’s passing with five children still at home. We had been talking about God. My grandmother couldn’t believe in a God who would allow someone with five young children to die.

It’s ironic, I suppose, that my faith in a loving God was born that day at my grandma’s kitchen table as she expressed so much anger and sorrow. Prior to that moment, I didn’t really know where I stood. I’d been taught to believe my whole life and I made a regular habit of praying, but it was always to a God I didn’t know.

I think back often to what led me to that moment at my grandma’s table and my response to her.

• Good friends who supported me in my grief.
• A dad who despite his own terrible grief was an anchor for me.
• A teacher who challenged me to be more than I was.
• Another teacher who had lost a son to cancer at almost the same time that my mother had passed. Aunt Nancy became one of my best friends.
• Daily prayer and studying the scriptures.

The moment at grandma’s table was transformational, but it happened because of quiet, consistent, intentional steps. Young children and even teenagers often make the decisions they do based on external motivators; parents encouraging us to be a certain way or do certain things. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have the parents, friends, and mentors I do. Back then, more than 30 years ago, it was no different. I was surrounded by people who motivated me with love not force.

Reflection on that moment at my grandma’s table made me realize that profound changes almost never occur all at once. Transformation is more often the almost imperceptible outcome of intentional, incremental steps. Each nudge, conversation, and act of love worked together. The people around me weren’t imposing things on me in an effort to make me different. Instead, they supported me in the steps I was trying to take toward a goal I hadn’t defined yet.

Life is often like this. Small, intentional actions stack quietly over time, shaping not just habits, but our sense of identity.

Taking a step back to broaden the implications in my own life from the experience at my grandma’s kitchen table, the real power of small, intentional steps is that they shape who we become. Rather than focusing only on achieving external milestones (running a marathon, writing a book, or becoming more spiritual), the transformational power comes when we shift toward identity-based goals. There’s a real difference between deciding to run a marathon and becoming a runner; between committing to finish that manuscript and embracing the identity of a writer; or, in my case, between praying because it was expected and becoming someone who genuinely sought to know and connect with God.

Alignment happens when our small, consistent actions reflect who we want to be deep inside. To accomplish any lasting change in our lives, it has to be less about external validation and more about what resonates inside us.

Understanding identity-based change is powerful, but it’s not always easy or intuitive to translate that understanding into practice. How do we bridge the gap between the person we are today and the person we want to be? The answer: simple yet intentional choices, and building habits that align with who we aspire to become.

Intentional Living

Intentional living isn’t something I’ve done a lot of in recent years. My life’s been quite reactive. So, I’ll admit that this practice is new and, of late, somewhat foreign. But, I think it’s a bit like riding a bike.

Intentional living starts with defining what really matters to you. We’ve all heard the phrase “North Star” before. It’s one, or perhaps a few, of the non-negotiables in our lives. They shouldn’t be complicated or grandiose. It might be something as simple as kindness, spiritual connection, creativity, or health. It’s making a statement that, “I choose x so that I become y.”

I am a runner, but I haven’t done much running in the last 15 months. I went on a 10-mile run with friends yesterday and it reminded me how good it is to be out there with friends and move my body. Yeah, I’m sore today, but it was worth it. The mental clarity I enjoy after a long run is worth the sacrifice.

Let me be clear: my intention is not to go for a personal best in terms of miles covered. My intention is to choose running so that I become healthier again. I’ve got 35 pounds I would like to lose, and running along with a healthy diet makes that goal achievable.

Once you have clarity around whatever the guiding intention is, commit to one small, manageable action that aligns with it every day or week.

Maybe it looks like five quiet minutes spent in genuine prayer or reflection before diving into the day. Perhaps it’s jotting down a paragraph of thoughts before bed, slowly building the identity of someone who writes. Or it might simply mean offering one sincere compliment each day, nurturing an identity rooted in kindness.

Whatever it is, regular reflection is critical. You have to pause to ask yourself: Did I move closer to the person I want to be today? When you find that you’ve drifted off course — and it’ll happen — remember to be kind to yourself. Recognize that every day is another opportunity to move with intention toward your core values and the “self” you want to be.

Intentional living isn’t about perfection; in fact, pursuing perfection is a distraction from living intentionally. Instead, intentional living is simply a daily commitment to align our actions with the gentle nudges guiding us toward who we want to become.

I’ve learned (and sometimes ignored) over the years — from quiet kitchen conversations with my parents and grandparents to rediscovering the joy of running — that the path from intention to impact is almost never straightforward. Even so, it’s profoundly hopeful. We don’t have to overhaul everything in our lives overnight. That’s mostly a recipe for failure. We don’t even have to know exactly what the end goal looks like. We just have to have courage enough to take one intentional step at a time. We have to believe that these small, consistent choices will carry us toward who we want to become.

Remember, transformation doesn’t need grand, sweeping gestures or perfect discipline. Transformation actually thrives on simplicity; one, small intentional choice after another. Every step is an affirmation of who you really are and who you’re becoming.

Patience is also required, because this journey from intention to lasting impact isn’t quick, but always worth it. Small decisions have a compounding effect of creating deep internal shifts that shape our identity and character. We often have to remind ourselves that we have the power to move intentionally toward becoming our truest selves.

Intention to impact, one step at a time, is a gentle yet powerful way of becoming.

Fear Is an Opportunist — Stop Letting It Take Over

 

Photo by Jas Min on Unsplash

Sweat dripped from my forehead and my hands ached as I moved yet another box of hydraulic fittings from the uncounted collection I had sitting around me to the shelf.

Mobile phones were still somewhat of a novelty and mine startled me when it rang.

A big change was coming, but I was out of town working and wouldn’t get the full story until the weekend.

All week in Idaho Falls, that phone call ran laps in my mind. I thought about it so much, I started to wonder if I was going crazy. I thought about the implications and my own real and perceived inadequacies.

That call made me afraid of what the future held for me.

It’s a familiar feeling to most of us. A tightness in the chest, mind racing a million miles a minute. My inner voice is never that quiet, and now it was on overdrive.

Don Johnson put it so elegantly:

Before you know it, fear is knocking on our door. It wants to get in. It wants to run the show. It looks for a weakness to exploit to establish a permanent residence in you.

There are, at times, big events in our lives, like the phone call I received, that fling the door wide open for fear to come in. Other times, all it needs is a small crack. Even when you think you’ve locked the door, fear sometimes has a way of making its way in.

And once it’s in, it never wants to sit quietly in the corner.

Fear’s the worst kind of house guest. I wants to rearrange things: your thoughts and your confidence. It makes you question yourself and doubt your choices. Things that might have seemed certain start to feel fragile.

Don Johnson again (because I love his writing):

Fear is a virus that separates us from ourselves, the present moment, peace and contentment. It makes us brittle and smaller, diminishes our capacity to think rationally, and can erode our health and well-being.

He’s right.

More than a few times since starting two businesses, I’ve felt that virus spread through my body, my decisions, and my conversations. I’ve felt it cloud my mind to the point where I couldn’t hear my own instincts anymore. It’s like losing the plot to my own story.

Fear pulls us out of the present and drops us into imaginary futures filled with worst-case scenarios or pushes us into a past where we ruminate on prior failures. It isolates us from who we really are. It disconnects us from clarity, peace, and joy.

How do we stop letting fear take over?

As much as I wish it were the case, there is neither a one-size-fits-all answer or a permanent solution that locks the door for good. What I do have are a few things I’ve been learning (mostly the hard way), and slowly trying to put into practice.

Remember: no hacks, no guarantees. It’s a model or set of reminders I’m learning to come back to when fear tries to break down the door again.

1. Name it. Don’t hide it. Fear thrives in darkness. As soon as I tell myself that it’s just fear talking there is a noticeable change. These internal fears we harbor lose strength when we call them out. Sometimes, I have to say it out loud so I can recognize that I don’t have to obey it.
2. Re-center in the present. I’ve joked with my wife that one of my “super powers” is dwelling in the past and fretting about the future. As we already discussed, that’s what fear does: it either pulls me into the future or pushes me into the past. When I catch myself spiraling, I try to do something — anything — that roots me in the now. I’ve been doing a simple breathing exercise: 3 seconds in, 2-second hold, 4 seconds out. It’s remarkable how effective that is in helping me get a grip.
3. Don’t go it alone. Fear loves isolation. That’s why the horror movies always portray the antagonist trying to split people up. When I keep fear in my head, it multiplies. But when I talk to someone I trust , generally my wife or one of my best friends, I start to get perspective. A trusted community is a powerful antidote to fear.
4. Remind yourself who you are. I often define myself based on the “loud success” I see around me. Consequently, fear loves to tell me I’m not enough. That I’ll fail. That I can’t handle what’s coming. But I’ve faced hard things before. I’ve figured things out before. Sometimes, I literally have to say that out loud: “I’ve done hard things. I can do this, too.”
5. Do the next right thing. Fear wants me to fix everything all at once, to have all the answers. What I’ve learned only recently is that progress often just looks like doing the next right thing. I might be one short call, one face-to-face conversation, one action, one small step forward.

Just because I’ve got a good list going of the things that alleviate fear, that doesn’t mean I don’t get afraid. It’s still mostly my default position, but I’m learning not to let it hang around so long. I’m starting to believe that I don’t have to give fear the keys to the house anymore.

Fear hasn’t stopped knocking and it’ll keep knocking. I’m not sure that will ever change, but I know I don’t have to answer the door all the time.

We’ll all still answer the door sometimes. Fear will still get in, but that doesn’t mean we have to give it the good chair and invite it to rearrange the furniture or knock down walls.

Even when fear’s loud, it doesn’t have to be in charge. More and more, I’m learning how to pause, breathe, tell myself what the truth really is, then take a step no matter how small.

The method’s not perfect, and it’s not easy, but it is possible.

Maybe you’re having a moment where fear’s at the door or you’ve already let it in and it’s planning to demolish the family room. Just know: you’re not alone, and you don’t have to let it in.

Well, At Least I Watched a Lot of YouTube

 

Photo by Xavier Mouton Photographie on Unsplash

A good friend died recently. He was 79 years old, but mostly seemed younger than his years.

By profession, he was a nuclear engineer; one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. He was also perhaps the most soft-spoken person I’ve ever met, and he rarely spoke. When he did, you knew it was time to listen.

I spent many afternoons sitting on his couch visiting with him and his wife. He offered wise counsel about how to live life.

After retirement, he didn’t go quietly into the night. He used his extra time to be engaged in our community politically, socially, and religiously. He was never one to just watch life go by. His active participation in life, I think, is what helped him stay sharp.

And then, just about a year before his passing, he was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. The chemotherapy stalled the tumor’s growth, but it also sapped his energy for life.

It was painful to watch.

Because now I’ve lost two good friends to brain tumors. And I’ve realized something about the way life fades out.

I don’t know that I’ve experienced more loss than the next person my age, but someone I maintain a deluded fantasy that the end of life is something abrupt; that it always ends in a sudden collapse or dramatic turn. Most of the time, of course, that’s not how it happens.

Life tends to fade in quieter ways. For so many of us, it fades in small decisions, changes (abandonment) of daily habits; a gradual shift from doing to watching.

At some point, a lot of people stop participating and start observing (or just consuming).

I’ve always been a doer, but I’ve realized that there are areas of my life where I’ve stopped doing. Of course, there are times and seasons for things, but I don’t run like I used to, I’ve gained 35 pounds, and I spend more time doom-scrolling on my phone than I’d like to admit.

It’s so easy to get caught up in valueless distractions: YouTube, news, little things that fill up time without giving anything in return.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was something of a slow drift. In 2023, I set a new record of more than 1,400 miles run. Then, I burned out. I decided to take a little break that turned into a long break. Of course, I didn’t change my eating habits — you can mostly eat what you want when you’re running 30+ miles a week most weeks.

It’s taken me 15 months to realize that I’m caught in a slow descent into passive consumption.

My friend’s life didn’t fade away through distraction. He didn’t spend his final years “just keeping up” with the world. He stayed engaged, stayed sharp, and stayed in motion until his body wouldn’t let him anymore. He still took time to relax when it was needed, but he didn’t give into the slow decay that sometimes comes with age.

And when I think about my own habits of late, I have to ask:

• Is this how my life is going to fade out?
• Am I going to allow myself to drift into a life of passive consumption?
• Or am I going to start doing again?

One thing I know about myself is that I’m a builder.

• I’ve helped businesses succeed, and am building my own companies now.
• I build software.
• I build systems that make things better.

But I’ve let stress and anxiety rob me of things that were (are) important to me. In some ways, I’ve become more consumer than creator.

The question now is whether this is just a reflection on a friend’s passing or a wake-up call.

Because if I’m honest, I don’t want my life to fade out in a slow drift toward meaningless distractions. I don’t want to reach the end with the final tally heavy on consuming, scrolling and watching. I want it to be tilted way towards the side of creating, building, and living.

I want to stay engaged.

I want to build.

I want to be present for the people who matter most to me.

So, this is my line in the sand.

When my life comes to a close, I don’t want to look back and say,“Well, at least I watched a lot of YouTube.”

I want to look back and say, “I loved, I served, and I built something that mattered.”

Do I Trust God?

 

Photo by Geetanjal Khanna on Unsplash

One of our family traditions during my teenage years was a yearly family reunion at a camp in a remote area of Idaho, USA. On our second trip ever — the day before we were to come home — my older brother started getting sick. He typically would have driven the car with the boys in it (there were five of us) so my parents and sister could enjoy the drive home in the other car.

We went to bed that night and I knew I would be the one driving the car home the next morning. I felt a sense of duty to take care of my older brother by driving so he could rest.

I woke early the next morning to discover that one of my contact lenses was missing. I removed my contacts the previous evening in the out-building where the showers and toilets were — about a hundred yards from our cabin.

I come from a strong faith tradition. It was almost second nature for me to offer a prayer for help locating that contact lens even though I had little hope of finding it. I offered a simple prayer then scoured the path between the out-building and our cabin, with my one good eye, over and over again.

After what felt like an hour of searching, I determined that my prayer had not been sincere enough. I returned to our now-vacated cabin, alone, and dropped to my knees on the floor. I offered a simple, sincere prayer. It couldn’t have lasted longer than a minute.

I concluded my prayer and with my head still bowed, I opened my eyes. There, right between my knees on the floor, was my missing contact lens.

Of course, you can argue that it is completely coincidental that I happened to fall to my knees in the exact location where the contact lens was. Even if coincidence, if I had not had that desire to pray in secret, I would most certainly not have found that contact lens because all of our gear was loaded, just waiting for us to get on the road.

That was my first experience with seeking for an answer through prayer; of trusting that God would hear me and answer somehow, some way. That particular prayer was answered even better than I hoped. Did an invisible guardian pick up that contact and drop it between my knees while I prayed? I don’t know. I didn’t notice the contact when I knelt down, but it was there when I finished.

I’ve had numerous experiences where I’ve received answers to prayers. They’re not always the answers I want. Often, if I’m humble enough to watch and listen, I can see how not getting the answer I wanted has blessed me in some way. Each of those prayers, little by little, has taught me to trust in God.

I was sixteen years old when I chose to follow God and I’ve never really looked back. I’ve had a few difficult experiences in life. I’ve measured most of my tough experiences against losing my mother to cancer when I was just about fifteen years old. I have felt, thankfully, that each of those difficult experiences has pulled me closer to God. In the midst of trials, that has been a great blessing in my life.

I recently learned of a very dear friend who moved away some years ago. He and his wife have built a beautiful family together. Their youngest child, a few months ago, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He had just turned three years old.

I also heard from another friend that he had multiple myeloma and acute kidney failure. Doctors gave him a few months to live, but he died just days later.

Those are just two of the hundreds of thousands of experiences that are repeated daily across the globe. For those who believe in God — any god — there are opportunities to question their faith as things in life don’t turn out how they hope and pray.

Faith — really trusting God — is a choice. Faith doesn’t happen by accident. According to the 24-hour news cycle, faith is decreasing in popularity.

In the face of life’s hardest moments, it’s natural to wrestle with doubts, to ask whether our prayers truly matter. When prayers seem unanswered, the temptation is to wonder if God is listening at all. Trusting God isn’t about receiving the desired outcome all the time. It’s about recognizing the limitation of our own perspective. Trust isn’t profoundly tested in the moments where we get the desired outcome, like the morning I found my lost contact lens. The real test is when our hopes and prayers appear unfulfilled, and we’re left searching for meaning in the darkness of doubt and despair.

I’ve learned that trusting God is knowing that I’m never alone in my struggles, even when I don’t get what I want. Prayers and yearnings that seem unanswered are an invitation to draw closer, to lean into a strength and peace beyond my own. Trust grows strongest in the face of hardship, not its absence. It’s a reminder that faith is not certainty in the temporary outcomes of life. Certainty only exists in trusting that God guides and comforts even when answers seem so far away.

I often think about the contact lens I lost all more than 30 years ago. It wasn’t visible to me until I’d paused, humbled myself, and knelt quietly on that cabin floor. Life’s deeper answers often appear like that lens, waiting patiently for us to slow down, let go of our urgency, and genuinely trust God. Even when circumstances feel uncertain — especially when it feels uncertain — God finds ways to meet us precisely where we are.

Miraculous moments can definitely bolster faith, but they’re not required to prove God’s love. We show our trust in Him through quiet, consistent acts of patience, hope, and surrender everyday.

The details of life won’t always align with our hopes, but profound peace comes from believing every experience — especially painful ones — holds a sacred opportunity to draw closer to God.