Listen to a podcast discussion about this article.
Every few years Mick Jagger reminds us that he still can’t get no satisfaction.
By now he’s been searching for it longer than some civilizations lasted. He’s traveled the globe, filled football stadiums, accumulated enough money to purchase several small countries, and still walks onto the stage announcing that satisfaction has somehow slipped through his fingers.
It makes the rest of us feel a little better.
The other morning I was sitting on a park bench with a cup of coffee and Seamus stretched out beside me, watching the parade of humanity pass by. If you sit quietly long enough, people will reveal almost everything worth knowing about life without saying a word.
A young man hurried past in business clothes, already talking into his phone before the parking lot had disappeared behind him. Judging by the weary look on his face, I suspected he’d already spent an hour driving to work and would spend another hour driving home. It occurred to me that we often calculate the price of a house down to the penny but rarely calculate the cost of getting to it every evening. There are people who unknowingly trade two years of their lives for a longer driveway.
A few minutes later a young woman walked by without ever looking up from her phone. Her thumbs moved with astonishing speed. Her expression suggested she’d just learned civilization was collapsing. Five seconds later she smiled at something else. Five seconds after that she frowned again.
Imagine allowing complete strangers to rearrange your emotions before breakfast.
Our grandparents worried about eating spoiled meat. We willingly consume spoiled ideas all day long.
An older fellow shuffled past rubbing his eyes. I don’t know whether he’d been up late watching baseball or arguing with anonymous philosophers on Facebook, but sleep had clearly lost the argument. That’s the funny thing about growing older. You begin noticing that almost every problem looks worse after a bad night’s sleep and considerably smaller after a good one. People spend fortunes searching for miracle cures while neglecting the most miraculous medicine they’ve ever owned—a decent mattress, a dark room, and the good sense to go to bed.
About then a retired couple came strolling down the path, moving so slowly they might have been measuring the earth with their footsteps. Every now and then one would point toward the river and the other would nod. They didn’t seem to be discussing anything particularly important.
Which is probably why they looked so happy.
I’ve noticed that the people who improve your life seldom do it dramatically. They simply leave you lighter than they found you. The opposite is also true. Some people can drain the joy from a perfectly pleasant Tuesday before you’ve finished your coffee. By my age you discover that choosing your companions is one of the few luxuries entirely within your control.
Seamus lifted his head as a woman jogged by with a golden retriever who appeared convinced every squirrel in Pennsylvania required immediate investigation.
The dog looked delighted.
The woman looked pretty happy herself.
Doctors have published mountains of research explaining why exercise improves mood. Dogs solved the mystery centuries ago. They simply insist on going outside every day and have never once complained about it.
Which brings me to another observation.
Human beings were apparently designed to live beneath fluorescent lights while staring at spreadsheets.
At least that’s what our behavior would suggest.
Yet I’ve never met anyone who returned from a quiet walk along the river and said, “Well, that was a complete waste of fresh air.”
About then the waitress from the little café across the street stepped outside with her coffee. We talked for a few minutes. She mentioned that she and her husband had finally paid off the last of their credit-card debt.
“I slept all night for the first time in years,” she said.
She didn’t tell me she’d become rich.
She told me she’d become peaceful.
Those are not the same thing.
By then the park was filling with children, bicycles, dogs, grandparents, and enough ordinary life to remind me that satisfaction rarely arrives with fireworks. It sneaks into the smallest corners of the day. It’s hiding in the friend who makes you laugh instead of complain. In the morning sunshine that finds your face before your phone does. In having enough money to keep the furnace running without keeping you awake. In taking a walk instead of another pill. In going to bed before midnight. In deciding that kindness, honesty, and keeping your word are still standards worth living by, even if nobody is handing out trophies.
Which brings us back to Mick Jagger.
Maybe he was searching in the wrong places.
Satisfaction has never been especially interested in fame, fast cars, or corner offices. It seems to prefer park benches, old dogs, good sleep, faithful friends, and people who quietly decide, day after ordinary day, to become a slightly better version of themselves.
Grandpa Jim has lived long enough to suspect that’s where it was hiding all along.
