The funny thing is, we teach - as a culture, we teach people that

Host: The sunlight spilled lazily through the studio windows, catching dust motes that floated like tiny golden secrets. The city outside murmured with distant traffic, the rhythm of a world too busy to notice its own heartbeat. Inside, the air smelled faintly of lemons and coffee, and the walls were covered in chalkboard quotes — phrases about wellness, motivation, and self-improvement.

In the center of the room sat Jack, lacing his sneakers, sweat still glistening on his neck from a morning run. His grey eyes were tired but alive, pulsing with the quiet fire of someone who keeps moving to outrun stillness. Across from him, Jeeny sat cross-legged on a yoga mat, her brown eyes soft but piercing, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that steamed gently in the morning light.

Jeeny: “Karamo Brown once said, ‘The funny thing is, we teach — as a culture, we teach people that it's OK to talk about your fitness goals… Like, I want to be more physically fit, I want to drop 10 pounds, but no one's talking about how I can spend 10 days to get happier.’”

Host: Jack looked up from his shoes, that familiar half-smile — part disbelief, part defense — creeping across his face.

Jack: “Ten days to get happier? Sounds like a self-help scam.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Maybe. But that’s not what he meant. He meant that we normalize physical goals, but shame emotional ones.”

Jack: “Because feelings don’t come with measurable progress. You can’t weigh joy or count reps of healing.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the problem. We’ve made happiness too abstract — a dream instead of a discipline.”

Host: Jack leaned back, running his hand through his hair, his breath heavy but thoughtful.

Jack: “You’re saying we should train our hearts the way we train our bodies?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The gym for the soul. But no one talks about it, because happiness feels… indulgent. Like wanting peace is somehow selfish.”

Jack: “Because we glorify struggle. Hustle culture, grind culture — even our rest has to be earned.”

Jeeny: “Right. People are proud to say, ‘I’m exhausted,’ but embarrassed to say, ‘I’m peaceful.’”

Host: The sound of the city rose faintly through the window — horns, footsteps, the steady hum of motion. The world outside kept sprinting.

Jack: “Maybe it’s because happiness doesn’t show. You lose ten pounds, people notice. You find joy, no one claps.”

Jeeny: “That’s what makes it sacred — it’s invisible. You don’t chase it for approval.”

Jack: “You chase it for survival.”

Host: Silence hung between them — not heavy, but aware. The kind of pause that makes both souls lean forward.

Jeeny: “You ever realize how much energy we spend on appearances? We sculpt muscles, fix hair, build résumés — but how many people sculpt peace? Build joy?”

Jack: laughing quietly “You make it sound like a workout plan. ‘Three sets of gratitude, two reps of forgiveness.’”

Jeeny: “Why not? If we practiced emotional health with the same consistency we give physical fitness, imagine how different we’d look inside.”

Jack: “You think happiness can be trained?”

Jeeny: “I think contentment can. Happiness is fleeting — it’s like a sprint. Contentment is endurance.”

Host: The sunlight shifted, moving across Jeeny’s face. Her eyes were calm — the calm of someone who’d wrestled storms and learned to let them pass.

Jack: “You know, I’ve always thought happiness was something that happens to you — like weather. It comes and goes.”

Jeeny: “That’s what people say when they’ve stopped trying to build it. You can’t control weather, Jack, but you can choose your climate.”

Jack: “Your climate?”

Jeeny: “Yeah. The habits, the thoughts, the people you surround yourself with — that’s your emotional ecosystem. You can’t stop sadness from raining, but you can plant trees that grow through it.”

Host: Jack stared at her for a long moment, something flickering behind his usual cynicism — curiosity, maybe longing.

Jack: “So if I wanted to, say… spend ten days getting happier, where would I even start?”

Jeeny: “With honesty. Sit down, no distractions, and ask yourself — ‘What hurts? What helps?’ Most people can’t answer either.”

Jack: “Because they’re afraid of hearing the truth.”

Jeeny: “Because they’re afraid of the quiet. Happiness requires silence — and silence makes us face ourselves.”

Host: The clock ticked softly, marking time not as a threat, but as an invitation.

Jack: “You know, when I run, I chase that feeling — not the physical burn, but the clarity. Maybe that’s the same thing.”

Jeeny: “It is. You’re running toward yourself.”

Jack: “Funny. I always thought I was running away.”

Jeeny: smiling “That’s the same road, just facing the other direction.”

Host: Outside, the light grew warmer. Somewhere below, laughter echoed from a nearby café — strangers sharing something fleeting but real.

Jeeny: “You see? Happiness doesn’t have to be monumental. It’s in these small things — breath, warmth, connection. But we’ve trained ourselves to ignore them unless they go viral.”

Jack: “We treat happiness like achievement, not atmosphere.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s not a destination; it’s a practice. And like any practice, it needs time, patience, and repetition.”

Jack: “Ten days, huh?”

Jeeny: “Ten days. Not to find happiness — to remember it.”

Host: The two sat quietly. The morning light now filled the room entirely — spilling over the yoga mats, the chalkboard quotes, the messy mugs of half-finished coffee.

Jack’s eyes softened.

Jack: “You think people can really learn to be happy?”

Jeeny: “No one learns happiness, Jack. They unlearn fear.”

Host: He exhaled — slow, heavy, free. Then he nodded.

Jack: “Alright. Ten days.”

Jeeny: “Ten days.”

Jack: “Where do we start?”

Jeeny: “Here. With gratitude for the fact that you’re asking.”

Host: The camera pulled back, framing them in the soft gold of morning — two people sitting still in a world that never stops running.

The city outside shimmered, and the hum of traffic became almost melodic — a heartbeat beneath the dialogue.

And as the screen slowly faded to white, Karamo Brown’s words lingered like sunlight after a storm:

That joy, like strength, must be trained.
That peace is a muscle we forget to use.
And that somewhere between ambition and exhaustion
lies the truest kind of wellness —
the one built not from achievement,
but from choosing, each day,
to get just a little happier.