In the previous column, we learned that a life of comfort and ease is not just unfulfilling—it’s maddening. The relentless pursuit of comfort is, at its core, an avoidance of life itself. It robs us of genuine pleasure and delivers us into the waiting arms of emotional dysfunction. In trying to bypass legitimate pain, we short-circuit our mental health, and our futile attempts to hide from life only lead to deeper suffering and despair.
This same dynamic applies to the pursuit of ego-oriented objectives—those that promise money, power, or fame as ends in themselves. They remove us from reality just as completely, and just as quickly, as the pursuit of amusement and distraction for their own sake. Indeed, Shlomo HaMelech writes, “One who loves money will not be satisfied with money” (Koheles 5:9). Chazal write, “One who has one hundred wants two hundred, and one who has two hundred wants four hundred;” and, “One who increases possessions increases worry” (Koheles Rabbah 1:13; Avos 2:8).
Modern research echoes these truths: people who prioritize material wealth and superficial success consistently report higher levels of anxiety and depression—and lower levels of happiness and life satisfaction. The more involved we are in meaningful pursuits, the greater the inherent pleasure and ultimate life satisfaction. Without purpose, even great effort yields little lasting reward—any satisfaction quickly dissipates if the end objective lacks meaning.
Being comfortable and having fun are not enough. Our neshama pulls us not just to do more, but to become something more.
Focus and Feelings
Perspective isn’t just a shock absorber for life’s difficulties—it’s the framework that makes pleasure possible. Strip away context, and meaning collapses—in hardship and in happiness.
The more responsible our choices → self-esteem strengthens → ego shrinks → perspective widens → humility deepens → gratitude expands → joy emerges.
The less responsible our choices → self-esteem weakens → ego expands → perspective narrows → arrogance takes root → entitlement grows → anxiety and depression follow.
When perspective is lacking, even the good in our lives remains out of focus. We fixate on what’s missing, what we’re owed, and where life falls short. No matter how much good we receive, satisfaction remains just out of reach. Without gratitude, joy is impossible. Chazal remind us: “Who is the wealthy person? The one who is happy with his portion” (Avos 4:1).
Appreciating what one has—instead of focusing on what one does not have—and happiness are directly correlated.
Perspective fosters humility by anchoring us in reality—and in our relationship with Hashem—opening our eyes to the depth of what we’ve been given: blessings that far exceed anything we could ever earn or expect. That awareness sparks gratitude—and gratitude unlocks joy.
Imagine a king inviting you to live in his palace. He assigns his finest servants to care for your every need, tailors to line your closets with exquisite clothing, and master chefs to prepare your favorite meals. Could you even imagine asking for more? Wouldn’t you feel embarrassed to demand finer fabrics or more elaborate feasts? That’s humility. Humility comes from recognizing that what we’ve been given is already unimaginably abundant. When we are full, we don’t think about taking—we overflow with the desire to give. A person with humility is complete. He has no need to take to fill a void or to feel whole. He is free.
Humility grants self-control, and self-control is the gateway to self-esteem. Without perspective, even abundance feels like deprivation—and no amount of good is ever enough. This not only robs us of the ability to experience joy, but also fuels mental health struggles and strains relationships—making it almost impossible to appreciate the good we do have.
Contamination vs. Redemption
A person’s perspective is most clearly revealed in how they reflect on everyday experiences—especially during life’s challenges—framing events through a lens of either contamination or redemption. The former is linked to poorer mental health, including anxiety and depression, while the latter is associated with greater emotional well-being and life satisfaction.
A contamination narrative sees everything as ruined by a single event, overshadowing the good until it too feels spoiled or invalidated. Unable to extract meaning or recognize any benefit, the person paints the entire experience with a stained brush. All sweetness turns bitter. The totality of the event is recast as negative—and remembered that way.
In contrast, a redemptive narrative emerges when we find meaning within pain and disappointment. We learn to recognize moments of meaning—pockets of positivity that foster gratitude.
A legitimate question remains: If pain becomes suffering when it lacks meaning—what about the fact that we don’t want pain at all? Even if we believe that everything Hashem does is for our ultimate good—that our neshamah needs it for its tikkun (a concept we’ll explore in a future column)—isn’t it still natural to feel anxious when we desperately want outcome “A” (pleasant and desirable) over outcome “B” (difficult and painful)? A person in need of a life-saving operation may fully understand its necessity, yet still dread the experience.
So how, then, does bitachon silence rational—even justified—worry?
In the next column, we’ll answer this question.
(To be continued)
