You want to be happy.

Of course you do. They have been telling you this since birth. Advertising, parents, therapists, influencers with veneers. The entire world is tuned to one frequency: be happy.

And so you run.

You buy. You travel. You meditate. You change partners, cities, careers. You search for the right formula. The right practice. That one book. That one teacher.

You hunt happiness as if it were a trophy you could hang on the wall.

And then—you catch it. For a second. For an hour. For a weekend in a good hotel. And it dissolves. Leaving you with the same void. Only now—with the feeling that you have once again done something wrong.

Here is a fact that self-help books will not tell you:

Dopamine. Serotonin. Endorphins. This is not a metaphor—this is biochemistry. Your brain releases molecules, and you call it “good.” The molecules dissipate—and you are hungry again.

The system was designed this way. Not for you to be happy—but for you to keep moving. Nature does not care about your state. It needs you to seek food, a mate, shelter. Happiness is a reward that vanishes a minute after receipt. Otherwise, you would stop. And stopping means death. For the genes.

You are not broken. You are simply using the wrong metric.

Imagine: you measure your life with a thermometer. Every day you check—hot or cold. “Today 99.5°F—not bad. Yesterday was 98.2°F—worse.” Absurd? Yes. But this is exactly what you do when you ask yourself: “Am I happy today?”

Happiness is a symptom. Not a goal. It arises as a side effect of certain actions. Like temperature arises from normal body function. You cannot will your body to 98.6°F. You can only stop interfering with its ability to produce it.

The pursuit of happiness is an attempt to heat the thermometer with a lighter. The numbers change. Reality does not.

Then what is the goal?

Not “how I feel,” but “what I changed.” Not a state—but a result. Not internal comfort—but an external trace.

Built. Written. Created. Transmitted.

An artifact. A system. A text. A decision. Something that exists outside you and remains after you.

Impact is the currency that does not depreciate. Because it is already materialized. It does not depend on whether you slept well, whether you had a fight with your partner, whether an existential crisis arrived on Tuesday evening.

Watch how this works in practice.

An architect builds a structure. Three years. Sleepless nights. Conflicts with the client. Doubt in every line. The happiness thermometer—consistently in the negative.

The building is complete. People enter. Live. Work.

Ten years later, he does not remember the insomnia. He sees the building.

And nearby—another. He “works on himself.” Retreats. Practices. Therapy. Every month—a new state. Euphoria. Insight. Breakthrough. A year later—nothing remains. No trace, no form. Only a collection of experiences that cannot be transmitted.

One invested in architecture. The other—in weather.

I am not saying: suffer.

I am saying: stop measuring with the wrong instrument.

Happiness will come. Or it will not. This is not your zone of control. Biochemistry is capricious. Weather changes. Hormones fluctuate. You cannot command your body to produce dopamine on schedule.

But you can control the output. The result. The trace on reality.

And when you build—happiness sometimes arrives on its own. As a side effect. As a bonus you did not expect.

But even if it does not arrive—you have already built.

Stop hunting chemistry. Start producing matter.

The thermometer is not the goal. It is the indicator.

The goal is the building that will remain standing when the indicator breaks.

You want to be happy.

Of course you do. They have been telling you this since birth. Advertising, parents, therapists, influencers with veneers. The entire world is tuned to one frequency: be happy.

And so you run.

You buy. You travel. You meditate. You change partners, cities, careers. You search for the right formula. The right practice. That one book. That one teacher.

You hunt happiness as if it were a trophy you could hang on the wall.

And then—you catch it. For a second. For an hour. For a weekend in a good hotel. And it dissolves. Leaving you with the same void. Only now—with the feeling that you have once again done something wrong.

Here is a fact that self-help books will not tell you:

Dopamine. Serotonin. Endorphins. This is not a metaphor—this is biochemistry. Your brain releases molecules, and you call it “good.” The molecules dissipate—and you are hungry again.

The system was designed this way. Not for you to be happy—but for you to keep moving. Nature does not care about your state. It needs you to seek food, a mate, shelter. Happiness is a reward that vanishes a minute after receipt. Otherwise, you would stop. And stopping means death. For the genes.

You are not broken. You are simply using the wrong metric.

Imagine: you measure your life with a thermometer. Every day you check—hot or cold. “Today 99.5°F—not bad. Yesterday was 98.2°F—worse.” Absurd? Yes. But this is exactly what you do when you ask yourself: “Am I happy today?”

Happiness is a symptom. Not a goal. It arises as a side effect of certain actions. Like temperature arises from normal body function. You cannot will your body to 98.6°F. You can only stop interfering with its ability to produce it.

The pursuit of happiness is an attempt to heat the thermometer with a lighter. The numbers change. Reality does not.

Then what is the goal?

Not “how I feel,” but “what I changed.” Not a state—but a result. Not internal comfort—but an external trace.

Built. Written. Created. Transmitted.

An artifact. A system. A text. A decision. Something that exists outside you and remains after you.

Impact is the currency that does not depreciate. Because it is already materialized. It does not depend on whether you slept well, whether you had a fight with your partner, whether an existential crisis arrived on Tuesday evening.

Watch how this works in practice.

An architect builds a structure. Three years. Sleepless nights. Conflicts with the client. Doubt in every line. The happiness thermometer—consistently in the negative.

The building is complete. People enter. Live. Work.

Ten years later, he does not remember the insomnia. He sees the building.

And nearby—another. He “works on himself.” Retreats. Practices. Therapy. Every month—a new state. Euphoria. Insight. Breakthrough. A year later—nothing remains. No trace, no form. Only a collection of experiences that cannot be transmitted.

One invested in architecture. The other—in weather.

I am not saying: suffer.

I am saying: stop measuring with the wrong instrument.

Happiness will come. Or it will not. This is not your zone of control. Biochemistry is capricious. Weather changes. Hormones fluctuate. You cannot command your body to produce dopamine on schedule.

But you can control the output. The result. The trace on reality.

And when you build—happiness sometimes arrives on its own. As a side effect. As a bonus you did not expect.

But even if it does not arrive—you have already built.

Stop hunting chemistry. Start producing matter.

The thermometer is not the goal. It is the indicator.

The goal is the building that will remain standing when the indicator breaks.