Are You Really Happy, or Just Performing Joy?

It’s 2:17 a.m. The city hums below my window like an old vinyl record stuck on repeat. My phone buzzes—another notification from the “Crazy Spin” app: “You’re just one spin away from your big win!”

I smile bitterly.

I used to believe that joy was something you got. A prize. A payout. Like when you finally hit that jackpot after hours of spinning—your heart racing, your breath shallow, your soul whispering: This is it.

But tonight… there’s no sound but silence.

The Illusion of Control

I remember sitting across from my therapist last year, telling her how much I hated feeling stuck. “I just want to feel alive,” I said.

She nodded slowly. “And when do you feel most alive?”

I paused.

Not during promotions at work. Not during brunch with friends who laugh too loud and talk too fast. Not even during those viral moments on social media where everyone says ‘you’re glowing.’

No—most alive was when I was alone. The kind of alone where time stops. The kind where the world fades and all that remains is breath, thought, and truth.

That’s when luck isn’t about numbers or reels—it’s about presence.

Why We Rotate Instead of Resting

We keep spinning—not because we want to win—but because stopping feels like failure. Like if we pause for more than five minutes, we’ll vanish into nothingness. So we scroll. We click. We gamble for dopamine instead of depth. We treat life like a game show where every moment must deliver excitement—or else it wasn’t worth living.

But what if happiness isn’t in the spin? What if it’s in the stillness between rotations? In watching rain trace patterns on glass without needing to name them? In letting grief sit beside joy without trying to fix either?

The Real Prize Isn’t Money—It’s Awareness

Last week, someone sent me their story: “I lost everything—the job, the apartment—but for the first time in years… I felt free.” The message ended with: ‘Thank you for teaching me that being okay doesn’t mean winning.’ That changed me more than any bonus round ever could.

Because here’s what they didn’t say: The real reward wasn’t in overcoming pain—it was in allowing it to exist without shame. The real victory wasn’t escaping sadness—it was staying with it long enough to hear its message: you are not broken—you are becoming.

So What Now?

The next time you feel drawn to another spin—pause first. Enter your own mind instead of chasing pixels on screen. Pretend you’re not playing any game at all—for just ten minutes, sit with yourself as if you were meeting someone you love deeply, telling them everything… without editing, telling them exactly how scared and hopeful you really are, telling them why this moment matters more than any jackpot ever could, because this moment—is yours—and no algorithm can take it away from you, because this moment—is real, because this moment—is enough, as long as you stay here—with yourself—in full awareness—not performing happiness—but simply being human, in all its messy glory, in all its quiet courage, in all its beautiful imperfection.