Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and

"Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy." These words of Guillaume Apollinaire, poet of passion and prophet of beauty, echo like a bell in the valley of the soul. They remind us that the pursuit of happiness—the endless striving, the restless reaching—is not itself the fullness of life. For what use is it to chase the light if one never stops to feel its warmth upon the skin? The ancients taught that man who runs always toward joy may pass it by, seeing only the shadows cast by his own desire. Thus, Apollinaire’s wisdom is not a command to abandon ambition, but a call to pause, to dwell in the miracle of the present moment.

In the ancient temples of Greece, philosophers once sat in the gardens of the Academy, watching the leaves drift upon the air. They spoke not only of virtue and glory, but also of stillness—the divine art of simply being. Aristotle himself, though devoted to the study of causes and purposes, said that happiness (eudaimonia) was found not in the fever of pursuit but in the harmony of the soul. When we pause in our pursuit, we step into that harmony; we remember that life is not a ladder to climb, but a rhythm to dance.

Consider the tale of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, ruler of Rome, burdened by empire and war. Amid the thunder of armies and the whispers of betrayal, he wrote in his journal—Meditations—that the soul must “stand upright and not be twisted by external things.” There were moments when he laid aside the crown and simply looked at the stars, finding peace in their silent order. The emperor, surrounded by endless tasks and turmoil, understood the secret Apollinaire would later voice: that happiness is not earned through conquest, but revealed through stillness.

In our age, the chase has become faster—the wheels of life turning without rest. Men and women rise before dawn and sleep with their minds still racing, seeking wealth, status, love, and meaning. They run, thinking happiness waits beyond the next horizon. Yet when the race ends, they find only exhaustion where joy should be. To pause is not weakness; it is wisdom. The tree that ceaselessly strives upward will crack; the one that bends in stillness endures. So too must we learn the sacred rhythm—of movement and rest, of striving and savoring.

Let us remember the story of a farmer in a small French village, who each evening stopped his plow to watch the sunset over his fields. When asked why he wasted time, he smiled and said, “Because this is why I work—to see the sun bless my land.” His heart, untroubled by the fever of pursuit, was rich with quiet joy. He understood, as Apollinaire did, that happiness is not a destination but a companion walking beside us, waiting to be noticed.

The lesson, my child, is this: do not measure your life by what you chase, but by what you cherish. Let the pursuit serve the soul, not enslave it. Rest your mind, breathe deeply, and look around you—the laughter of a friend, the warmth of light, the fragrance of bread baking—all these are happiness itself. You need not seek them far; they are the gentle pulse of being alive.

In practice, each day take a moment to stop—to pause without guilt. Step outside your task, your duty, your dream, and simply dwell in the present joy of existence. Feel the sunlight on your face, or the quiet hum of your own breath. Let gratitude rise, for this pause is the true feast of the spirit. And when you return to your pursuits, you will find your steps lighter, your heart steadier, your happiness already with you.

Thus, Apollinaire’s words are not mere poetry; they are a map to peace. To pause is to remember that we already hold what we seek. To just be happy is not idleness—it is enlightenment. For in the calm between our breaths, the universe whispers: You have already arrived.