Quiet Clarity is a 2x/week newsletter and podcast for people who want to build a life of presence, depth, and deliberate intention.
You ever notice how the waiting is sometimes better than the getting?
That feeling before the vacation starts.
The butterflies before the first date.
That anticipation that makes time fly.
But you keep rushing.
You keep trying to skip to the good part.
You keep missing the joy in the journey.
You keep forgetting that anticipation might BE the good part.
So what if happiness isn't waiting at the destination but dancing in the space between?
Where It Showed Up in My Life
I used to dread Mondays with the kind of existential weight that made Sunday nights feel like mini-funerals.
The weekend would end, and I'd already be mourning its death before it was even over. Monday loomed like a prison sentence, each week an endless cycle of waiting for Friday to save me again.
But then something shifted. I started taking my dog on extra-long walks every Monday morning. Nothing revolutionary - just me, him, and whatever path felt right that day.
And the weird thing was that Sunday nights started changing. Instead of dread, I felt this little spark of anticipation. "Tomorrow's long-walk Monday," I'd think, and somehow that made all the difference.
My dog caught on too. Now he starts getting excited Sunday evening, doing that tail-wagging dance dogs do when they know something good is coming. Monday became his favorite day, and watching his joy made it mine too.
That's when I realized I'd been living life backwards. I kept waiting for the big moments - the vacation, the promotion, the perfect relationship - thinking happiness lived there.
What if I'd been so focused on arriving that I forgot to enjoy the traveling?
What the Wisdom Reveals
This brings me to the tale of Arun and the legendary feast.
Once a year, a distant village held a feast so magnificent that travelers would journey for weeks just to taste it. Arun had heard the stories - dishes so delicious they could make you weep, flavors that would haunt your dreams for years.
He set out on the long journey, and something magical happened. Each step filled him with more excitement. He'd imagine the warm bread, the spiced fruits, the rich sauces. The anticipation made every mile feel shorter, every day brighter. He was already happy, and he hadn't even arrived.
After many days of joyful traveling, Arun finally reached the village.
But disaster had struck. The feast was canceled. They'd run out of the special ingredients, and it wouldn't happen for another year.
Disappointed villagers sat in despair. Some had traveled even farther than Arun, and their devastation was palpable. They spoke of wasted journeys, ruined plans, dreams destroyed.
But Arun felt something different stirring in his chest.
"I've been happy for days just thinking about this feast," he thought. "Why should I let this one moment steal all that joy from me?"
While others mourned their loss, Arun did something extraordinary. He smiled, turned around, and began walking home, carrying the same anticipation with him.
The other travelers thought he'd lost his mind. "How can you be happy? The feast is canceled!"
But Arun understood something they didn't: It was never really about the feast. The happiness wasn't waiting at the destination - it had been traveling with him the whole time.
The anticipation itself was the gift. The feast was just an excuse to feel it.
How I'm Trying to Live Now
What happened when I stopped waiting for happiness and started creating it?
I began engineering anticipation into my life like a scientist of joy. Not huge things - that's unsustainable. Small, recurring moments of "something to look forward to."
My weekly energy rituals became anticipation anchors:
Long-walk Mondays (turned my worst day into my dog's favorite)
New Coffee Shop Wednesdays (different location, same laptop, fresh energy)
Random Contact Fridays (text someone I haven't talked to in months)
The neuroscience backs this up - novelty releases dopamine. But here's the plot twist: the anticipation of novelty does too. Sometimes even more.
Think about it. How often is Christmas morning actually better than the December leading up to it? How many vacations peaked in the planning phase? How many first dates were more electric in imagination than reality?
But here's where Arun's wisdom goes deeper. He stayed happy even when the feast was canceled because he'd learned the ultimate skill: detachment from outcomes while staying attached to the feeling.
That's the paradox that changed everything for me. I can be genuinely excited about something while simultaneously being okay if it doesn't happen. The anticipation is mine to keep regardless of the outcome.
Now I build little anticipations everywhere:
Starting a book creates anticipation for each chapter
Planning workouts with new people adds novelty to routine
Setting up catch-up calls gives me connection to look forward to
You know that feeling when waiting becomes its own reward?
When the countdown is as fun as the event.
When planning the trip brings more joy than taking it.
When anticipation transforms ordinary time into charged possibility.
When you realize you've been living in the wrong temporal direction.
That's not delusion. That's mastery.
Because André Gide nailed it: "Anticipation of happiness can often be as valuable as the happiness itself."
Sometimes more valuable, because anticipation can last weeks while events last hours.
So try this:
Create one weekly energy ritual starting next week.
Pick your hardest day and add something you'll genuinely look forward to. Nothing huge - huge isn't sustainable. Something simple that makes you think "at least I have that to look forward to."
Then notice what happens to the day before. Watch how anticipation changes time, how it adds lightness to heavy moments.
Because Arun discovered what we all must learn:
The feast might get canceled, but the joy you carried to get there? That's yours to keep forever.
