What Really Makes Us Happy? Rethinking Happiness and Fulfillment
Photo by Ryan Stone on Unsplash
Over the past year, I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness. This reflection began during a conversation with a friend who shared an observation: no one seems to be fully, consistently happy. Even our parents, who have lived full lives and are now retired, still worry about something, despite things turning out well overall.
In that moment, I told him that I’ve accepted that happiness comes in phases. There are times when I feel content and fulfilled, and then there are periods when I feel dissatisfied, restless, or focused on striving toward something, believing happiness will return once I achieve whatever it is I’m working toward.
He agreed, and we moved on, but the thought stayed with me. I wanted to explore it further, to check if I was oversimplifying it, or if there was something deeper I hadn’t yet understood about my own patterns.
A side note: Some people in my life refer to astrology when things get difficult. Because of their influence, I’ve been exposed to it too. I’m still undecided about how much I believe in it, partly because some predictions have been surprisingly accurate and other completely wrong, and partly because I remain open to the possibility that not everything is fully explained by science yet. I’ve also noticed that these predictions can offer comfort. When you hear that the difficult period will end soon, even if the dates aren’t exact, it provides a sense of hope. And if you’re told the tough phase will last for years, it helps you mentally brace yourself and still move forward with clarity.
One of the recurring predictions in my chart is that I will never feel fully satisfied. Most people interpret this as never being completely happy. But to me, it actually feels reassuring - it suggests I may not settle, that I will continue evolving, exploring, and discovering where life wants to take me next. I’ve experienced this in my career. At every stage, I was “satisfied enough,” yet something kept nudging me forward until I eventually found coaching, which feels like home.
And even here, I know I will continue to evolve. The core direction - supporting others through coaching will likely remain, but the way I approach it, the methods I use, and the kinds of conversations I’m drawn to will probably shift. In fact, they already are. (Related post: “Is It Still Aligned? Reflecting on Purpose, Plans, and Growth”)
Recently, something I read helped me connect all these dots.
I came across a section about orcas in Mari Andrew’s book How to Be a Living Thing. She shares how orcas in captivity experience a form of psychological and physical distress. When kept in tanks, they receive regular food and are safe from external threats, yet they often become severely under-stimulated, to the point that some develop self-harming behaviours due to stress.
It sounds counterintuitive: shouldn’t a predictable, comfortable life feel easier and therefore better?
But orcas are designed for vast, dynamic, unpredictable environments. Their bodies, instincts, intelligence, and social systems are wired for complexity, exploration, long distances, uncertainty, and collective problem-solving. When they are placed in confined, artificial spaces, even well-maintained ones, they don’t experience peace; they experience anxiety. Their environment may appear safe, but it is fundamentally mismatched with their nature.
A captive orca lives with absolute certainty, something many of us believe we want. And yet, that certainty becomes its suffering.
It made me wonder:
How often do we keep ourselves in our own version of a clean, comfortable tank - repeating familiar cycles, feeling safe on the outside, but quietly aching on the inside?
If that prediction about lifelong dissatisfaction is true, then I don’t see it as a limitation. It may simply be my nature calling me toward movement, curiosity, expansion, and evolution. Just like orcas aren’t meant for aquariums, perhaps humans aren’t meant for emotional or professional captivity either.
And if you are currently in a phase where what is no longer feels like home, my gentle invitation is this:
Don’t rush to fix the discomfort.
Don’t judge it as failure.
Don’t assume something is wrong with you.
Maybe it’s the first sign that your inner compass is pointing you toward the ocean.
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