The Paradise Paradox is the tempting but misguided belief that moving to a "paradise" will magically make everything better. It's the idea that a change of scene to somewhere beautiful or exciting will somehow sweep away all our problems. And while a fresh setting can give us a lift, the reality is often more complicated: paradise, as wonderful as it might be, won't always solve the everyday challenges we bring along with us.

Moving to your paradise might feel incredible, and it's a life-changer for some people, but it's easy to idealize paradise, imagining it as a place where worries simply disappear. Yet even the most stunning places could start to feel ordinary, and your conceptualised paradise may have its own challenges.

For instance, perhaps your paradise is a beautiful, distant, exotic land. Such a paradise, however, has the drawback of no longer being distant or exotic once you arrive and the day-to-day takes over. Someone living in a fast-paced metropolis might dream of calm and quiet, while someone surrounded by calm and quiet may dream of the rush and excitement of the big city.

Alastair Humphreys, who introduced me to the Paradise Paradox in his book Local, gave a great example in our podcast about Microadventures. In an interview on an American podcast, the interviewers couldn't imagine exploring Kansas to be exciting—it was known or even home to them. But to Alastair, a visit to Kansas would be an adventure, full of new things to see and do. It's a reminder that our ideas of paradise are often fueled by novelty—and novelty, by nature, doesn't last forever.

Expectations, the day-to-day, and Adaptability

Some of the Paradise Paradox may be explained by how easy it is to build up expectations. If we imagine paradise as the ultimate fix, it could lead to disappointment if it doesn't live up to the dream. As for vorfreude—the joy of anticipation—the build-up can sometimes overshadow the reality.

Then there's the simple truth that day-to-day life in paradise isn't a vacation. A tropical beach holiday lets you unwind and enjoy the scenery without a care. But living there might mean dealing with rainy seasons, work deadlines, or just regular old laundry.

Humans are also remarkably adaptable. We're good at adjusting to new surroundings, which means something initially remarkable may soon become the new normal. It's a bit like the grass-is-greener mentality we see in many areas of life. If you're a consultant, you might long for the stability of an in-house role, while in-house folks might crave the variety of consulting.

In some cases, the Paradise Paradox takes on a more serious tone. The documentary film The Paradise Paradox, executive produced by Olympic ski racer Bode Miller and filmmaker Brett Rapkin, explores how people drawn to the beauty and tranquility of US mountain towns sometimes face mental health struggles. These picturesque communities, though visually idyllic, have experienced higher-than-average rates of suicide, highlighting the challenges of living in remote, isolated settings.

Strategies to Minimize the Pull of the Paradise Paradox

To reduce the effect of the Paradise Paradox, it helps to focus on what brings fulfillment in any setting, allowing us to appreciate where we are without feeling the constant pull of an imagined paradise. Here are a few ways to lessen the allure:

Practicing gratitude allows us to recognize the value of what we already have. Focusing on the positives around us may make us less inclined to search elsewhere for happiness, realizing that contentment often lies closer than we think.

2. Prioritizing Experiences Over Material Goods

Research consistently shows that experiences bring longer-lasting happiness than possessions. Prioritizing meaningful activities and memories can bring joy and satisfaction, outlasting the initial thrill of accumulating more.

A minimalist approach can help reduce the constant desire for more—whether it's things, places, or achievements. Simplifying our lives can allow us to focus on what truly matters and bring a greater sense of peace.

Focusing on personal growth, nurturing relationships, and contributing to our communities can offer a lasting sense of fulfillment that doesn't depend on our surroundings. Meaningful goals and connections often provide the depth of happiness that location alone can't bring.

Paradise can certainly refresh us, but true and lasting happiness is often about embracing where we already are and what we already have.

Since writing this I keep seeing related quotes:

The only Zen you can find on the tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there.

“We tend to attribute happiness to our circumstances (what happens to us) but studies suggest our happiness is really dependent on what we pay attention to.”

— Cal Newport, Deep Work (via Mind Over Tech)

"Happiness isn't getting what you want, it's wanting what you got."

The paradise paradox

Vorfreude is a delightful German word for the pleasure of anticipation. It combines vor, meaning "before" or "in advance", and freude, meaning "happiness". It's the joy from the anticipation of joy.

How to get more happiness from the same activity? Vorfreude!

For me, the magic of Vorfreude lies in how it stretches out the pleasure of any upcoming event or experience. Once I hit 'Confirm' to book a trip, it kicks off joy for months whenever I think about the trip. And the great part about it, if we're organised, is that a trip in December can bring 'anticipatory joy' from when we book it in January. I need only reflect on my positive feelings about the trip, and life seems better.

I've often found that the Vorfreude may surpass the joy of the actual trip. With my Vorfreude glasses on, I never worry about the mosquitoes, the heat, or the inevitable waiting on the journey.

Germans have a saying that reflects this: "Vorfreude ist die schönste Freude," or Vorfreude is the best joy.

Thanks to something called fading affect bias, the emotional weight of negative memories tends to fade faster than positive ones. This leaves us with a rose-tinted view of past trips and may conveniently erase the niggly parts we didn't enjoy, allowing us to focus on just the good parts of a trip coming up. Or perhaps it's our optimism bias (we had a fun podcast about optimism bias).

Vorfreude doesn't only apply to big events like a holiday or wedding. I find anticipatory joy in small things, too. I look forward to the first coffee in the morning every day. Sometimes, the coffee won't live up to what I'd hoped for, but hey, I'd already been enjoying the idea of it since I finished my last coffee the day before.

I look forward to meeting friends and loved ones. I look forward to a dinner out. I look forward to weekends. I look forward to the next football match. I look forward to a cake coming out of the oven. Many people look forward to 5 o'clock each day. By simply reflecting on these moments of future joy, we can experience happiness right now, no matter where we are.

We can even work to cultivate and enhance our Vorfreude. As a child, nothing built anticipation like an advent calendar, ramping up excitement for Christmas day as I opened each new window. Sharing photos of your holiday destination with friends and family before you go and planning activities increases vorfreude. Getting good things in the diary can kick us out of languishing.

In some ways, Vorfreude mirrors the benefits I get from fear-based training plans or the forcing function of signing up for endurance events later in the year—having signed up for the event, I start to benefit from it as soon as I get out training with friends.

Of course, you may not be looking forward to the trip that's coming up. Perhaps upcoming events are filling you with dread. Anxiety is an emotion perhaps closest to the opposite of Vorfreude, or anticipatory anxiety more specifically.

I've also seen Vorangst proposed—with Angst being strong anxiety or fear—which seems a very suitable alternative.

While thinking fondly about upcoming events can give you Vorfreude, a reader pointed out to me the dangers of thinking too much about how good something will be in the future.

It's easy to slip into setting expectations in your mind about how good something ought to be. If it then doesn't live up to your expectations, it could affect your enjoyment in the moment.

I guess the sweet spot is expectation-free Vorfreude.

It's not just the Germans who thought of giving a word to the joyful anticipation and excitement before an event. The Dutch use the word Voorpret for the same concept—pret meaning fun.

But don't forget to enjoy the moment. I'm sometimes reminded of Calvin talking with Hobbes about the enjoyment of his favourite breakfast cereal, Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs:

"Ahhh, another bowl of chocolate frosted sugar bombs! The second bowl is always the best! The pleasure of my first bowl is diminished by the anticipation of future bowls, and by the end of my third bowl, I usually feel sick."

While it’s great to savour the anticipation, remember to enjoy the moment when it arrives.

More tips for Vorfreude in this excellent article by Rachel Dixon: The Vorfreude secret: 30 zero-effort ways to fill your life with joy

If money doesn't make you happy you're probably not spending it right

a simpler vorfreude picture with text (which works rather well as a message on a clock)—to be honest, this is probably better =)

Vorfreude

Collective effervescence is an eye-catching name for the magic of shared experience and moving in unison. As described by the French sociologist Émile Durkheim, it picks out those times when people come together in synchrony for an experience that's different and often greater than those you can have alone.

It might be gathering and singing at a music festival, swaying to the music as one being at a concert, experiencing the wonder of nature together, when the crowd erupts together as a goal goes in and hugging the person next to you, taking a yoga or spinning class, worshipping together, the pilgrimage to Mecca, or that magical Shawshank Redemption moment listening to the duet from The Marriage of Figaro as one. Despite my feeble clarinet skills, I remember a brief goosebump feeling when the school orchestra played it all correctly. And I remember my hair standing up when Twickenham Stadium carried Swing Low, Sweet Chariot in unison.

Collective effervescence is something we missed during the pandemic. It was identified in Dacher Keltner's book Awe as one of the 8 Wonders of Life.

Also see: forest bathing, notice when you're happy, 5 ways to wellbeing

Collective effervescence

Don't compare your back-of-house with others' front-of-house.

Usually, we only see others' front-of-house, and because we know all about our own house it's easy to find ourselves comparing how we're doing in the back with how others are doing in the front. Often a recipe for unhappiness.

I remember wondering how a friend was so calm before their first child. They said, "I'm like a duck, calm on the surface, but underneath my legs are kicking like crazy."

The truth is we don't know how others are doing so best not be comparing at all.

This idea is inspired by an exercise about the hidden parts of parenting from The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read by Philippa Perry, though I'm pretty sure as a metaphor it can be quite widely applied.

Front of house, back of house

To feel great joy we have to be ready to feel vulnerable. I found this counterintuitive. As Brené Brown shares, if we can't tolerate joy, if we're not open to being vulnerable, we can find ourselves dress-rehearsing tragedy — when things are at their best we might be telling ourselves that it won't last, we don't deserve it, something will go wrong. An antidote to this she says is to practise gratitude. Be thankful and appreciative of what we have.

For a lightweight intro to some of Brené Brown's work you could do worse than spend an hour watching The Call to Courage on Netflix.

Also see: Hope and Listening with passion

Joy and vulnerability

Meh. Blah. Can't be bothered? Not excited about the future? Perhaps you're languishing.

Adam Grant's NYT article, There’s a Name for the Blah You’re Feeling: It’s Called Languishing, resonated with so many people as the coronavirus pandemic drew on. While not having a mental illness or being clinically depressed, many of us associated with a general stagnation or apathy towards things — an absence of, or poor, mental health. Languishing is a counterpoint to how we might feel in prime mental health, full of wellbeing or Flourishing.

While languishing may not be necessarily dangerous in itself, if you're languishing you may be at higher risk of mental illness.

Naming our state can be a first step to doing something about it

Looking for small wins that show us progress

Asking how our friends and family are doing — having the opportunity to speak to someone about it

You also might consider working on the 5 Ways to Wellbeing, getting in some forest bathing, walking a labyrinth, aiming for some flow, noticing when you're happy, or seeing what might bring you hope.

The term languishing for that part of the mental health continuum is from Corey Keyes. See for example, Corey L. M. Keyes. “The Mental Health Continuum: From Languishing to Flourishing in Life.”Journal of Health and Social Behavior, vol. 43, no. 2, 2002, pp. 207–222.

Armchair and inspiration, as usual, from Bill Watterson.

Languishing

Ever since I came across Mihalyi Csikszentmihalyi's concept of Flow it has stayed with me as a simple framework and beacon for finding joy, creativity, and total involvement with life.  

"What I 'discovered' was that happiness is not something that happens. It is not the result of good fortune or random chance. It is not something that money can buy or power command. It does not depend on outside events, but, rather, on how we interpret them. Happiness, in fact, is a condition that must be prepared for, cultivated, and defended privately by each person. People who learn to control inner experience will be able to determine the quality of their lives, which is as close as any of us come to being happy."

When researching happiness Csikszentmihalyi found that be they climbers, ballet dancers, chess players, or gardeners, people gave surprisingly similar descriptions to how they felt at their peak experience while performing an activity.

When in flow people are wholly focused on the present moment, they experience a strong sense of control, they lose their self-consciousness and their ego, their experience of time changes so that time can fly by or a moment can seem to slow down, and the joy of performing the activity becomes an end in itself.

Flow has a fairly simple set of conditions which I find myself using as a little mental checklist:

When climbing, a prototypical flow activity, it's clear that you are trying to get to the top, you can immediately see if you are making progress and whether an action progressed you or not, and it's wise to pick a wall that is difficult but not impossible, for you to enjoy it. No wonder climbing can be so addictive.

By contrast, it was evident to me that none of these were present when studying for my PhD.

I also like flow because it reminds me that peak happiness is unlikely to be experienced by sitting around watching the TV.

The quote is from, Flow, the psychology of happiness, by Mihalyi Csikszentmihalyi, who also taught me that any name can work to do great work.

Flow

Some simple wisdom from Kurt Vonnegut: notice when you’re happy.

“My uncle Alex Vonnegut, a Harvard-educated life insurance salesman who lived at 5033 North Pennsylvania Street, taught me something very important.

He said that when things were really going well, we should be sure to NOTICE it. He was talking about simple occasions, not great victories: maybe drinking lemonade on a hot afternoon in the shade, or smelling the aroma of a nearby bakery; or fishing, and not caring if we catch anything or not, or hearing somebody all alone playing a piano really well in the house next door.

Uncle Alex urged me to say this out loud during such epiphanies: “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is”

"So I do the same now, and so do my kids and grandkids. And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”

If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is

Ah, that satisfying, superior, at once gleeful and slightly sinful feeling when the aggressive driver that blazed past you a few miles back is pulled over by the police at the next exit. That feeling is schadenfreude (a nifty German word made up of “schaden” for damage, harm or hurt and “freude” for joy) to describe the act of taking pleasure in others’ misfortunes.

I hadn’t thought much of it before reading some excerpts from Tiffany Watt Smith’s book Schadenfreude. She makes a compelling case for the benefits of examining the moments when we feel superior at another’s expense as a small window into ourselves. A little twinge of joy when a colleague doesn’t get a promotion might reveal your jealousy of their situation or a deep-down resentment of unfairness. If the person who pushed in front of you in line drops their ice cream right after buying it, your secret twinge of joy might be a sense of justice and equity for obeying the rules when they didn’t. Schadenfreude can be a little boost to your own self-esteem or a valuable window into your own weaknesses.

For a mini-intro, try Tiffany Watt Smith’s TED Ideas article: Do you secretly feel good when others stumble? 5 ways to make peace with this very human emotion.

I revised this sketch for the book Big Ideas Little Pictures.

Schadenfreude

Tsundoku is the beautiful Japanese word for the acquiring and piling up of books without reading them. Constructed from 2 words loosely meaning piling up and reading.

The sketch is loosely based on my parents’ bedroom while I grew up, both of whom are experienced and talented tsundoku-ers/tsundokists.

Tsundoku

The Fun Scale categorizes different types of fun experiences into distinct levels. It consists of three main types of fun: Type 1, Type 2, and Type 3. The concept behind the Fun Scale is that not all fun is created equal, and some types may be more rewarding or memorable than others.

My brother, who learned it from a mountain guide, introduced me to the Fun Scale. Before then, I used to think that fun was just fun. But the Fun Scale opened my eyes to the fact that there are levels and types of fun, each with its own characteristics. 

So, what are the three types of fun in the Fun Scale?

Type 1 fun is the most straightforward type of fun. It’s the kind of activity that is fun while you’re doing it, and it stays fun when you think back on it. Picture something like eating ice cream on a hot day, riding a roller coaster, or skiing with lifts to whisk you right back to the top. Type 1 fun is carefree, pleasurable in the moment, and provides uncomplicated enjoyment.

I'm sure you can think of a million more.

Type 2 fun: hurts a bit to do, but fun in retrospect

On the other hand, Type 2 fun is a bit trickier. It's the kind of activity where you may not have a blast while you're doing it—it's probably hard work or even painful. However, once it's over, you look back on it with a sense of achievement, and it becomes fun in retrospect.

This is the sort of enjoyment you get from something like running a marathon or climbing a mountain. At the time, you might question why you're doing it. Brendan Leonard in Ultra-something relates the joke, "You know what I like most about climbing a mountain? It feels so good when I stop."

You'll often think of Type 2 fun as ultimately more fulfilling and often somewhat addictive than Type I fun.

Cycling a mountain stage of the Tour de France

Cold water swimming (or maybe an ice mile)

Type 3 fun: not fun to do, not fun in retrospect, but makes a great story

Type 3 fun is usually type 1 or 2 fun that went wrong. Though it was supposed to be fun, things actually got a little hairy. Perhaps a trip started out like good Type 2 fun, but then you got lost, or it got dark, and it got cold, or things got much more serious than intended. Maybe you had to be rescued.

This kind of fun is not fun while it's happening. It's probably not even fun when thinking back on it. But Type 3 fun sure makes a great story when you make it back, and, well, life is made up of great stories, so perhaps it wasn't so bad after all.

Not practicing your kitchen table survival skills

There are rumours of Type 4 fun and Type 5 fun, but having heard some good stories of Type 3 fun and created a few myself, I can't say I recommend them =)

The Fun Scale, adventure and fulfilment: why we crave Type 2 and Type 3 fun

In our podcast discussing the Fun Scale, Tom, identified Rob and I as Type 2 Fun junkies. There's something intriguingly addictive about setting yourself difficult challenges, pushing through hardship, and emerging out the other side. Rob and I have signed up for a challenging endurance event pretty much every year for the last decade or so. Every single time the event on the day is really hard. And yet, once the immediate memories subside we find ourselves signing up for something similar next year.

Even if it's not you, I'm sure you probably know someone who seems to keep pushing themselves to do things that they don't seem to enjoy. It reminds me of Calvin imitating his dad in Calvin and Hobbes: "Calvin, go do something you hate! Being miserable builds character!"

Type 2 fun and type 3 fun, to some extent, help build character, life experiences and the stories that shape us and are fun to tell others. The sense of accomplishment and unforgettable stories that emerge from these experiences outweigh the discomfort in the long run.

Type 1 fun is fun when you do it and fun to remember.

Type 2 fun is not so fun when you do it, but it is fun in retrospect and is the most fulfilling.

And Type 3 fun is not fun in the moment or when you remember it—but it makes the best stories!

I have seen people write about Type A fun, Type B fun and Type C fun, or Type I fun, Type II fun and Type III fun, but I learned it as 1, 2 and 3.

The Fun Scale is probably my favourite idea that didn't make it into my new book. If you like this one, you'll love the book Big Ideas Little Pictures.

Kaffikok - the distance you can go before needing a coffee

The fun scale: understanding the types of fun

I love this term. From the Japanese shinrin-yoku, it means to soak in the atmosphere of a forest. And I think it’s not too far of an overstatement to say that a walk in Nature is about the closest to a miracle cure we have. There appear to be myriad benefits from simply spending time in Nature. As my sister put it, if it was a drug we’d be prescribing it.

Though we didn’t call it forest bathing at the time it’s definitely some of my happiest memories, like here, here, here, here, and here.

Forest bathing

Nine-enders are people in the last year of a decade, say, 29, 39, 49, 59. Adam Alter and Hal Hershfield, who introduced the term, propose that as we approach the end of a decade we are more likely to do a kind of "meaning audit" of our lives. And in the years just before the end of a decade, if we may have fallen short or feel there’s something else we want to accomplish, we’re much more likely to do it then than in any other year of a decade.

In practice, as Dan Pink shared in his book When: The Scientific Secrets of Perfect Timing, these are, therefore, the times when we’re more likely to do something extreme like running a marathon for the first time and, sadly, also committing suicide.

Read more in Dan Pink’s Atlantic article: You’re Most Likely to Do Something Extreme Right Before You Turn 30, Dan Pink, The Atlantic

When: The Scientific Secrets of Perfect Timing, Dan Pink

People search for meaning when they approach a new decade in chronological age, PNAS, vol. 111 no. 48, Alter and Hershfield, 2014.

This sketch, updated and polished, features with a number of others in my book Big Ideas Little Pictures.

9-Enders (nine-enders)

Update: for times when you really need to remember a password I still like this technique, for all other times — which is to say, ideally every time — I suggest using a password manager. Use a password manager to generate unique passwords for every service so long and complex that you couldn't possibly be bothered to type it and that will force you to always use the manager instead.

However, for the few passwords that you can't avoid typing they might as well remind you of something good. I have found this makes me happier.

Choose passwords that make you happy

Three principles for spending your money to make you happier from the excellent titled paper "If money doesn’t make you happy then you probably aren’t spending it right."

Buy many small pleasures instead of a few big ones.

If I feel like I have money and I'm not feeling so happy, the tips from this paper come to mind, and I find myself reflecting on what I could be doing differently with my money.

More generally, I believe there is a correlation between money and happiness, but only up to a certain level, at which point most of our needs are met, and more money doesn't tend to make people that much happier.

Elizabeth W. Dunn, Daniel T. Gilbert, Timothy D. Wilson, If money doesn't make you happy, then you probably aren't spending it right, Journal of Consumer Psychology, Volume 21, Issue 2, 2011, Pages 115-125, ISSN 1057-7408, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jcps.2011.02.002

Spend better

Of all my sketches, I have a soft spot for this one.

We had some lovely family friends who were massively into birding. As a schoolboy, I was more interested in birds than most, but one day, my Dad and I went to stay with them.

They talked us through trips they'd been around the world to spot rare and rectangular birds. They had an amazing telescope trained on the birds at the feeder in their garden. They had wonderful binoculars we used on a bird walk, which showed me birds clearer and closer than I'd ever seen. They knew what birds to look out for and had tape recordings of specific bird calls that brought the birds to nearby bushes. It was impossible to be around them and not start to love birds.

As I've gotten older, I've realised pretty much everything and everyone is like that. Premier League football is boring if you don't pay close attention to it, but if you follow every detail, it can be engrossing. I didn't think much of textiles, but after spending an afternoon weaving in Laos, I loved it.

Pretty much everything has the thing they're deeply interested in.

The physicist Richard Feynman said: "Nearly everything is really interesting if you go into it deeply enough."

And here's another similar sentiment from the writer Henry Miller: "The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself."

It reminds me that just because I don't see something as interesting now doesn't mean that it's not or that people who are into it are somehow weird.

Happiness sketches