Pushing Pause on the Pursuit of Happiness

On September 21, 2022, I wrote that someday I wanted to write a book about my life and the things I’d been through. I don’t remember exactly what I thought that meant at the time.

Maybe I imagined myself sitting in some beautiful office with a steaming cup of something sophisticated, effortlessly typing profound thoughts while inspirational music played softly in the background.

Instead, four years later, I’m sitting here with a Polar Pop.

Honestly, that tracks.

But here’s the crazy part: I wrote the book. Or, more accurately, I am writing the book.

Over the past year, I’ve been actively working on Living in the And: Finding Christ in the Unfinished Places of Our Lives, and right now there is a legitimate, solid second draft sitting in the hands of actual human beings who are reading it and giving me feedback.

Which is kind of wild.

I have absolutely no idea what will happen with it.

Maybe it gets published. Maybe I publish it myself. Maybe somebody reads it and thinks, Good heavens, this man uses a lot of words. Maybe it becomes something bigger than I imagined. Maybe it doesn’t.

The voice in my head—the particularly helpful one that likes to show up whenever I attempt anything remotely vulnerable—occasionally reminds me that this whole thing could be a pipe dream, it sucks, and everyone's gonna hate it.

Thanks, buddy.

But then another part of me thinks: Yeah...but what if it isn't? What if they don't?

How cool would that be?

And I think there’s something wonderful about having things in our lives that make us ask that question.

What if?

I’ve always been a dreamer. Apparently, at some point I even made a list of things I wanted to do with my life. Looking at it now makes me smile.

I wanted to get my doctorate in Educational Leadership. Meet Brené Brown. Become a life coach. Move out of Arizona. Become a motivational or public speaker. Start a book club. Be a force for good in the world. Sing lead in a jazz combo. Record a Christmas album with an orchestra. Travel Europe. Be in a Broadway show. Direct Brighton Beach Memoirs. Teach a Shakespeare course. And get veneers because I've always hated my teeth and my smile.

I actually tried to do something about that one. I spent way too much money on Invisalign only to discover that I was supposed to wear them all the time, drink nothing but water while wearing them, and—perhaps most offensively—stop chewing ice. And, ew, the nothing but water part?! No, that's just drinking spit. Gag! So I didn't wear them. Apparently I don't hate my smile a-butt-ton-of-money-and-give-up-chewing-ice worth.

Dream big, kids.

Some of those things have happened. I started the book club. I sang with a jazz combo in college for a hot minute, so I'm counting at least partial credit there. I made it to London before COVID interrupted that particular European adventure. I've auditioned for Broadway. I teach Shakespeare, even if it's currently a unit rather than an entire course. And as for being a force for good in the world? I don't know. I hope so. I guess it depends on who you ask. HA!

The rest are still sitting there.

And you know what?

I like them there.

I like having dreams. I like having things that make me wonder, What if? Dreams give us something to reach toward. They can get us out of bed in the morning. They give us something to imagine when life becomes a little too monotonous, repetitive, or hum-drum.

Because a lot of life really is ordinary. It’s Tuesdays.

So. Many. Tuesdays.

I wrote about this recently after reading Our Town with my students and thinking about how much of life happens in the ordinary moments we barely notice while we're waiting for something more exciting to happen.

And maybe that's what's changing in me. Because for most of my life, I have been very good at more: More goals. More plans. More accomplishments. More opportunities. What's next? What's bigger? Where are we going? What are we doing? COME ON, PEOPLE, WE HAVE THINGS TO ACCOMPLISH!

For a long time, if I stopped moving toward something, I got itchy. Rest felt like stagnation. Contentment felt suspiciously like settling. If I wasn't reaching, striving, planning, producing, creating, fixing, or figuring out what came next, I worried that maybe I wasn't doing enough.

But lately something feels different.

I think I've pushed pause on the pursuit of happiness. And I'm just... happy.

Not every second. Good grief, let's not get carried away. There are still things I want to change. There are things that kinda suck. There are situations I'd rather not deal with and people I'd occasionally like to place gently into a cannon and launch toward another zip code.

Life is still life.

But maybe that's the whole point.

Some things can suck and life can still be pretty awesome. I can still have dreams and not need them to come true before I'm allowed to enjoy my life. I can keep becoming and enjoy being.

Huh. Look at that. Living in the And. Apparently I've been writing an entire book about something I'm only now beginning to understand.

For years, I think I treated happiness like a destination. If I could just get there. Get the job. Direct the show. Take the trip. Write the book. Make more money. Fix the problem. Accomplish the thing. Then I could relax, enjoy it, and be happy.

But there was always another there waiting behind it.

And I'm tired of making happiness wait.

That doesn't mean I've stopped dreaming. Please.

I still want the doctorate, to meet Brené Brown, and direct Brighton Beach Memoirs. And somebody get me an orchestra because that Christmas album isn't going to record itself.

I still want and hope for things, wonder what's coming, and believe there are chapters of my life I haven't even imagined yet. But I don't need to live in those chapters today.

Today is actually pretty good.

It's overcast outside, which in Arizona basically qualifies as a national holiday.

I've got my Polar Pop, a book sitting in front of me that four years ago was just an idea, and feedback to read and a third draft to start. Tomorrow the week begins again, and with it will come work and responsibilities and problems and people and all the ordinary stuff that makes up a life.

But today?

Today I'm okay being right here. Maybe I'll get itchy again tomorrow and wake up with twelve new goals and a color-coded spreadsheet for achieving them. That would also track.

But right now, I'm enjoying this.

This day. This moment. This ordinary little Sunday afternoon.

My word for 2026 was THRIVING, and apparently it has taken me nearly ten months to figure out what I meant by it. I thought thriving would mean my life finally becoming everything I wanted it to be. Now I think it might be being able to look at the life I already have—with the dreams and disappointments, the things I've accomplished and the things I haven't, the beautiful parts and the parts that still kinda suck—and say: This is good, too.

So good for you, Jere! It only took you 49 years and nearly ten months of obsessing over one word to figure that out. Enjoy the last three months of 2026 while you can.

And what will my word be for 2027? What will I pursue next? What will change? What's waiting around the corner?

I don't know. That's a future Jere problem. Today Jere is going to sit here, drink his Polar Pop, chew his ice, take a crack at Draft Three, and enjoy this glorious overcast day. There will be plenty of time for what's next.

Today, I'm enjoying what is.