𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

"My mom is old but very unhappy. I don't know how to make her happy"

"My sister has done so much for me, but has been unhappy for years. I wish I could make her happy"

"I will do everything in my power to see my children happy"

We speak of happiness as if it were one single thing, a destination to be reached. However, it is more useful and true to see it as two distinct gardens we tend. The first is a garden of moments, vibrant and immediate. It is the warmth of a shared coffee, the laughter in a good story, the quiet contentment of a pet sleeping at your feet. This is episodic happiness. Last for a brief period of time. It is essential. It is the daily nourishment for the soul, and we can be gardeners in this space for others. We can plant these small joys for them, a phone call, a kindness, a gesture that says, “𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖.” This is a beautiful and worthy responsibility.

But the second garden is different. It is deeper, more expansive, and more personal. This is the garden of 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. It is not built from moments, but from the soil of meaning. Its two most essential nutrients are the quality of our relationships and the purpose we find in our work, not the 9 to 5 job, but the feeling that we have used our precious time well. This is the retrospective feeling, when one looks back and asks, “𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑰 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆?”

And this garden, crucially, belongs only to the individual. We may stand at the gate and admire it. We may offer seeds of advice or point toward the sun. But we cannot till the soil for another. We cannot force their purpose to grow shoots. We cannot make their relationships meaningful for them.

When you see a loved one unhappy, ask yourself which garden of theirs is not blooming? If it is the first, you can make an effort to bring sunshine into their lives. To believe we are responsible for this deeper happiness in them is to take on a weight we were never meant to carry. It is a recipe for guilt and frustration. We watch a loved one feel adrift or dissatisfied, and we assume it is a problem we must solve. We try to construct a life for them that we think will bring fulfilment. 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘀𝗳𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗷𝗼𝗯. It is a path they must walk themselves, making their own choices, learning their own lessons, and discovering what “𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆” truly means for them.

Our true role is not to build their second garden, but to respect its sacred boundaries. We can tend generously to the garden of their moments, filling it with light and connection. And we can have the wisdom to know the difference. We can love them without assuming the burden of their ultimate contentment. We can walk beside them, perhaps even guide them toward fertile ground, but we must let them do the planting. Their life satisfaction is their own to grow. Our freedom, and theirs, lies in understanding that.