JUNE 28, 2026 – (Cont.) Older age, I’m discovering, induces a re-evaluation of both “happiness” (and its pursuit), and “meaning.” In the first place, as one looks back at age 70, one realizes that pursuit of most things slows. No longer is the step-up in vocational or professional standing “pursued,” any more than an Olympic medal is or becoming a billionaire by age 30—now that 40 years past that age are in the rearview mirror and for most working stiffs, any dreams of even 1% of that kind of money are nothing more than dissipated pipe smoke. An old guy like me might “pursue” good health by eating oatmeal for breakfast and walking an hour a day, but beyond the happiness that accompanies gastrointestinal regularity and sustained pain-free ambulation, most people of my chronological ilk don’t walk around with Pursuit brand after-burners strapped to our ankles and artificial knees.
All of this is as it should be.
At earlier stages of life, I was all about the “pursuit of happiness,” mostly as if it were a marathon race up the side of a mountain. The overwhelming goal was to endure (the marathon part) and to achieve (the mountain sequence). My problem, as it turned out—at least as long as I viewed it as such—was that I was trying to run too many marathons up too many mountains concurrently. As a result, I never reached a summit and thus, by community standards, at least, I failed in my “pursuit of happiness”
By the aging process, however, I attained something far more important—far more meaningful—than any mountain peak: I achieved perspective; perspective that only age—and a fair amount of it, at that—can produce. In that perspective, I found meaning; in that meaning, I found happiness.
In a highly materialistic culture, driven by runaway capitalism barely slowed by tentative restraints disingenuously (if not ignorantly) labeled as “SOCIALISM!” our frame of reference around “happiness” is shaped mostly by the products of our system, designed, assembled, distributed, marketed and sold for our consumption. Every waking hour of every person is filled with one simple directive: “CONSUME THIS—NOW!” In short order, we’ve allowed this imperative to define “happiness.”
Yet, I can attest that with the perspective that accompanies eligibility for AARP membership comes the inescapable truth that consumption is almost antithetical to my late-in-life “happiness.” This doesn’t mean I’ve eschewed consumption. I burden the earth with the excesses of consumption at the same rate as achieved by any other self-respecting senior citizen. But like many others of “my age demographic,” I’ve lived long enough to behold the essence of “happiness” and its detachment from consumption.
I realized this most directly in the course of spending nearly two weeks with our grandchildren. To hear our almost three-year-old grandson call me a “rapscallion” in mimicry of my calling him one; to see our not-yet-six-month-old granddaughter reward my smile at her with an impish smile of her own; to open an intricately drawn “Happy Grandfather’s Day” card from our 10-year-old granddaughter, with lots of writing inside, including, “You’re a great grandpa and I cherish you!” above a highly representative and detailed portrait of her and me (with matching eyeglasses). These are among the things that for me, now best define “happiness.”
But they are emblematic of a much larger picture of this essential but often elusive element of a meaningful, not merely “happy,” life: interaction with people.
I think of the encounter I enjoyed yesterday with alley neighbors, Dave and Kate, who strolled to our driveway to offer us two extra vibrant tomato plants along with ample compost. We chatted for a while, and I told them how grateful we were—not simply for the plants but that this kind and caring couple are our neighbors.
Today I called my good friend and college classmate, Jeff O. to wish him a Happy Birthday. As always, we enjoyed a wonderful conversation. For the thousandth time, I was reminded how Jeff has enriched my life for over 54 years.
This afternoon a work colleague from the distant past, Lon and his wife Christi, dropped by for an extended conversation on our back porch. We’d been out of touch for at least 15 years until a phone call about two months ago. Today we talked up a storm—reminiscent of the “meteorological storms” we unleashed at work back in the day. Whatever positive influences I might’ve had on his career, Lon brought inestimable enlightenment to my worldview. By sending me Ned Blackhawk’s tome, The Rediscovery of American History: Native Peoples and the Unmaking of U.S. History (which took my a month to wrestle to the ground) after our phone call in April, Lon continues to expand my historical perspective. Little could bring greater delight than the two-hour-long conversation we enjoyed this afternoon.
It is these people-connections that bring happiness; but they are not “pursued.” They simply happen.
Meanwhile, I wait impatiently for my newly ordered books to arrive. Each—open in my hands— will bring additional “happiness.” Technically then, I suppose yesterday’s online ordering process could be considered “the pursuit,” one of my three inalienable rights.
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© 2026 by Eric Nilsson
