The Intersection Between Pleasure And Meaning
In his bestselling book, Happier, Harvard psychologist Tal Ben-Shahar wrote about the arrival fallacy—a mistaken belief that achieving or “arriving” at a particular goal or desired destination—a dream job, reaching a financial milestone, completing a big project—will bring you lasting happiness, and thus make you feel complete or permanently satisfied. This happens, Ben-Shahar explained, because humans quickly adjust to new circumstances, making the joy of the new achievement fade faster than expected. When you focus on the act of “arriving” rather than the process or meaning of the journey itself, you may unintentionally place more value on the “getting” rather than the “doing.” It recalibrates our internal happiness meter and sends us chasing the next milestone, turning it into a never-ending cycle. To combat this, Ben-Shahar says, we must fix our attention on the right things—to purposefully engage in the journey, to focus less on outcomes and more on the process, and to notice and appreciate the present, because “happiness,” he says, “lies at the intersection between pleasure and meaning.”
Never “arriving” at a destination by engaging in the journey, focusing less on outcomes and more on process, appreciating the present for what it is… that’s the idea for today.
It’s Not The Most Important Thing In My Life
The recently ranked world number one golfer, Scottie Scheffler, was asked how long he usually celebrates after winning a tournament. Having worked his entire life to become good at golf, “the euphoric feeling of winning,” Scheffler says, “only lasts a few minutes… and then it’s like, ‘okay, now what are we going to eat for dinner?’” To live out a dream as a pro golfer “is a pretty cool feeling,” Scheffler says, “but at the end of the day I’m not out here to inspire the next generation of golfers because… this is not a fulfilling life. It's fulfilling from the sense of accomplishment, but it's not fulfilling from a sense of, like, the deepest places of your heart.” Throughout his career, Scheffler encountered many people who had made it to the highest rungs of their industry, thinking it was going to provide the fulfilment, but “all of a sudden you get to number one in the world, and they’re like, what’s the point?” What is fulfilling to Scheffler, however, is appreciating what he already has: to be a father to his son and to provide for his family. “Every day when I wake up early to go put in the work, my wife thanks me for going out and working so hard. And when I get home, I try and thank her every day for taking care of our son. That’s why I talk about family being my priority, because it really is… This is not the be-all and end-all; [golf] is not the most important thing in my life.”
Look Around Right Where You Are
Throughout her career, the psychiatrist Dr. Anna Lembke has seen thousands of patients battling with all kinds of addictions. They often come to her saying they’re depressed, anxious, and miserable because they’re unable to “find their passion,” and the addictions they struggle with are often a suppressant to that pain. Like the arrival fallacy, they think that once they “arrive” at their passion, their life will be better. This is a very misguided idea, Lembke says, “People are looking to fit the key into the lock of the thing that was meant for them to do.” But, “[they] have it backwards.” “And here’s where I really think the answer [to the passion fallacy] lies,” Lembke says. “Stop looking for your passion and instead look around right where you are.” Reflect on the journey you’re on. Are you focus on the process or fixated on the outcome? Are you appreciating the present moment or constantly chasing the next big thing? “Stop distracting yourself, look around right where you are, and see what needs to be done. Not ‘what do I want to do,’ but ‘what is the work that needs to be done?’”
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For eight years, ever since he first read the script by songwriter Lin-Manuel Miranda, the Broadway director Tommy Kail dedicated himself to bringing it to the stage. In 2008, In The Heights debuted on Broadway. That same year, it won a Grammy and four Tony Awards. At Radio City Music Hall, the entire cast and crew went up to receive the final Tony Award for Best Musical. Two of them hoisted Lin-Manuel Miranda onto their shoulders. There was fist-pumping, waving, and screaming. Everyone was happy. Forty-four seconds later, the lights changed. The audience rose to their feet and began to leave. Discussions about the after-parties and what to eat and where to go followed. But Kail remained on stage, alone. “Well,” Kail said, “if this is a pinnacle, and it’s over in an instant, and people are already talking about what’s next, it can’t be about this. It has to be about something more than this.” What Kail realised on stage that evening was: the final outcome is a fleeting moment compared to the whole experience. The cast and crew of In The Heights stood on the stage for forty-four seconds—0.000017% of the eight years Kail dedicated to the project. Kail realised that to allow a tiny fraction of the experience to dictate his happiness or satisfaction with the work was absurd. It has to be more than that.
In A State Of Becoming
What Kail realised on stage that evening was what I often felt after winning (or losing) every rugby game. I remember after every game, if I was lucky, I would come home with only bruises and cuts—if not, a broken bone or a tear somewhere. The question I always asked myself was: why do I keep playing the sport despite the risk of physical pain and injury? My answer evolved as I got older. In my younger years, I desired the glory and honour that came from dominating my opponent. Then it was because I had an ego to fill. Then it was about celebrations and trophies. But it was when I was at the peak of my playing career—representing Singapore against Chinese Taipei and Thailand in 2024—that I unearthed the answer. What kept me going was essentially what keeps most people out of anything difficult: the physical and mental demands of sport. That is to say, the journey as a rugby player with a single focus—doing what it takes to win, even when it’s painful and uncomfortable. Gym sessions at six in the morning. The extra training sessions to improve my ball-handling and coordination skills. Reviewing past game performances to identify and improve weak areas. Brotherhood in team sport. Overcoming injuries and getting back to full fitness. Engaging in psychological warfare against rival teams. Upholding the humility, grit, and unspoken code of honour as an athlete. Best of all, demonstrating to my kid what hard work is, and why I’m doing this.
This is what love for a sport—for anything—is. By pursuing my best to be the best, I realised I was in a state of becoming. I was constantly arriving, but had never arrived at any particular destination. And so, if the final outcome is only a fleeting moment compared to the whole experience—the journey of the past seventeen years in the sport—it has to be more than just winning trophies. It has to be more than glory and honour. It has to be more than the self.
I have since retired from the sport. Yet I am deeply grateful for all the opportunities to enjoy the game for what it is: to step onto the field, to have kept pushing forward, to have kept playing and playing and playing. To do what you love and love what you do—that is the ultimate reward.
