Yacht ownership and happiness

Observe the magnificent Leopard 34. Around 3 million Euros of luxurious tropical indulgence. Sun deck, bar, a couple of jetskis, and 8 guests comfortably accommodated in more than 100 feet of powerful aquiline wonder. 

Now observe something which we imagined does not apply to us at all. But boy, does it. So much so that I will graph it, and defy any landlubbing aspirant to argue otherwise.  

Happiness as we imagine it is a state of joy or pleasure; a fancy name is euphoria. Happiness does not last, in the same way that sadness doesn't last either. 

Pursuing happiness is a bit like a never-ending gamble, with diminishing returns. Things that bring pleasure only do so in fleeting ways; people can become addicted to acquiring more things  because they expect that the happiness that they experience on acquiring them will last for longer than a short while. It doesn't. 

For some material thing to add to true long-term happiness, better described with words such as contentment, satisfaction or fulfilment, more input is needed from the owner. People may enjoy sailing for the pleasure that comes from mastering seamanship and related things. But buying a fancy boat, or a fancy anything, and expecting it to give anything more than a short-term kick, is misguided.

You can't remember what exactly led to you getting that boat, other than an overwhelming feeling of anticipated joy. It didn't last. When our acquisitions fail to make us happy, we begin to devalue and belittle their worth. The brain is tricky like that. The joy is never as great as those first few days bobbing around near a quiet shore in the Greek islands.  It wanes, and dramatically at that. The things that we amass become a reminder that we are not as happy as when we first acquired them; we interpret that as meaning we need to acquire more. You ran out of excuses as to why you weren't constantly brimming bubbles of elation, despite having got the thing you were after. 

 It becomes actively troublesome to have the thing, and it dawned on you that logical next step is to get rid of it. In doing so, you found relief and pleasure at having offloaded the burdensome prize. In this way, you really do enjoy the day you got rid of it as much as the day you got it.

Strangely enough, things that require effort and maintenance can be a source of happiness, perhaps because we gain little pleasures from having expended effort in nurturing them. It is the chap with the temperamental little dinghy that he nurses to life every weekend, who enjoys the happiness more reliably and intensely. He has understood what drives him: a wish to take care of things, to engage his mind, and to master the perils of those tricky outcrops of rock near his harbour. Mastery, autonomy, and seeking meaning above and beyond the material shininess of things,  are far more worthy investments in a life of contentment.