Beware of Destination Addiction

There’s a quote by Dr. Robert Holden that stopped me cold the first time I read it:

“Destination addiction is the idea that happiness is in the next place, the next job, the next partner. Until you give up the idea that happiness is somewhere else, it will never be where you are.”

I read it again. Then a third time.

Because how many of us are quietly living like that’s true—believing that joy is waiting just beyond the next corner?

We whisper promises to ourselves all the time:
“When I get through this rough patch…”
“When I lose the weight…”
“When the diagnosis comes back clean…”
“When I make more money…”
“When the holidays are over…”
“When the house is finally in order…”
“When things calm down at work…”
“When I stop feeling so tired…”

It’s always just a little bit later. Just a little bit beyond now. That is destination addiction.

It’s sneaky, too. Because it sounds like hope. It sounds like being goal-oriented or forward-thinking. But when we hang our happiness on the next season, the next achievement, the next milestone—we unknowingly rob ourselves of the joy that’s available right now.

I’ve seen this in so many forms over the years. Especially in the world of healing. It’s easy to believe that joy is only allowed once the scans are clear or the labs look perfect or your body feels like it did five years ago. But what happens when healing doesn’t follow a straight line? Or when the good news takes longer than expected? Does that mean you’re not allowed to feel peace or laughter or lightness until then?

I don’t think so. I think that kind of waiting quietly starves us of the very fuel we need most in hard times.

Here’s what I believe with my whole heart: happiness isn’t a finish line. It’s not something we earn by grinding through life or checking all the boxes. It’s not a trophy handed to us once everything looks shiny and perfect.

Happiness is an inside job. It’s a way of seeing. A way of being. A series of small decisions to live with presence, even when the world feels messy or uncertain. It’s learning to say, “This moment counts too.”

One of the hardest things for many of us to accept is that life will never be fully figured out. There will always be unanswered questions, loose ends, and reasons to postpone joy if we let ourselves. But joy doesn’t ask for perfect conditions. It simply asks for your attention.

This doesn’t mean pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. It doesn’t mean plastering on a smile while you’re hurting. It means honoring your pain while still making space for light to reach you. It means not putting your whole life on pause until the storm passes.

You can be healing and still experience joy.
You can be grieving and still feel gratitude.
You can be confused and still enjoy a quiet morning or a good cup of tea.
You can be heartbroken and still laugh with your best friend.
You can be rebuilding your life and still soak in the beauty of a sunset.

Those things are not contradictions. They are part of what it means to be a whole, fully feeling human being.

There’s a lie we’ve been told that we must earn joy. That we must be strong enough, healed enough, successful enough, spiritual enough, something enough to be worthy of happiness. But I think we’ve had it backward all along.

The moments that bring peace—real peace—rarely come from something we achieve. They come from something we allow. They come from presence. From stillness. From deciding that today is not a dress rehearsal. That even in the midst of uncertainty, life is offering something worth receiving.

Sometimes that something is small. A familiar song on the radio. A hummingbird out the kitchen window. A deep breath that reaches all the way down. A dog curled up at your feet. A friend who texts just to check in.

None of those things require a milestone or a transformation to be meaningful. They just ask that we notice them.

I often tell the women I work with in my cancer coaching programs: if you keep waiting for the next thing to save you, you’ll miss the life that’s trying to love you right now.

So maybe we don’t need to keep running toward the next place, hoping it will finally make us feel complete.

Maybe happiness isn’t “out there” at all. Maybe it’s here.

In the body you’re in, even if it’s healing.
In the home you live in, even if it’s imperfect.
In the people who show up, even if you don’t have a huge circle.
In the quiet moments between the hard ones.

I’ve been practicing that shift in my own life. Slowing down. Savoring more. Giving myself permission to feel happy even when everything around me isn’t polished or easy.

Because if we keep waiting for a life that looks perfect, we might miss the one that feels real.

And real has a beauty all its own.

So if you’ve been quietly putting off your own joy, waiting for the right season or the right solution to show up, let this be your invitation to soften.

To look around.
To feel what’s here.
To welcome a little light without guilt or conditions.

And joy?
It’s not waiting for you at the next stop.
It’s waiting for you right here, right now!

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and may the New Year bring you much joy and happiness.

Be Well,

Leslie

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