Ah… pull up a chair by the old piano, dear friend. Let this one be played slowly, with space between the notes.
Long before fame, when John was just a boy—small enough to sit with his feet barely touching the floor and eyes wide with wonder—a teacher asked him a question humanity has been asking ever since.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
A title.
A future.
A name.
But the boy responded from somewhere deeper than ambition.
“Happy.”
The teacher smiled politely, like authority figures smile at innocence, and said, “You don’t understand the question.”
And the boy—already wiser than the room—replied without resistance.
“That’s because you don’t understand life." That exchange wasn’t a clever retort.
It was a bell rung too early for most ears to comprehend.
Because from that day on, the world taught us to seek happiness indirectly.
We were taught to chase it through careers,
through partners,
through applause,
through vacations,
through selfies carefully taken and posted.
We were told happiness is found in the next thing—
the bigger house,
the newer car,
the shinier version of ourselves.
And for a moment, sometimes, it feels like it works. As if life is maybe playing hide-and-seek.
A brief sparkle.
A temporary lift.
But the joy fades,
and the hunger returns,
and the search resumes—
always outward,
always forward,
never inward.
Like chasing a shadow at sunset, the closer we get, the further it seems to stretch away.
Until one day—usually after exhaustion, heartbreak, or quiet disappointment—
the seeking collapses under its own weight.
And in that stillness, a strange realization dawns: perhaps happiness was never hiding in objects.
Never borrowed from another.
Never waiting for achievements.
Never promised by possessions.
Maybe all those things were just mirrors—reflecting something we already were but forgot.
So the search changes direction.
Not for happiness,
but as happiness.
Without reason.
Without reward.
Without attachment.
No trophies.
No finish line.
No applause needed.
Just a simple presence, like music played without an audience or a child laughing without knowing why.
The shadows fade when the light turns inward.
And suddenly, the question returns—
not as a demand,
but as an invitation:
What do you want to be?
This time, the answer is not rebellious.
It is not philosophical.
It is quietly obvious.
Just happy!
And finally, life nods in agreement.
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