We may have forgotten how to feel. Nobody is teaching us how to

Hear the lament of Yakov Smirnoff, who declared: “We may have forgotten how to feel. Nobody is teaching us how to live happily ever after, as we’ve heard in fairy tales.” These words are a mirror held to our age, and their meaning is as sharp as the blade of truth. For though our world has grown rich in knowledge, swift in invention, and loud in progress, we are in danger of losing the quiet wisdom of the heart. We chase after shadows of wealth and power, but we stumble when asked how to love, how to rejoice, how to endure with peace. Truly, we have forgotten the art of feeling, and with it, the path to happiness.

The ancients knew that the soul was not merely a mind to calculate nor a body to labor, but a flame to be nourished. Yet in the clamor of modern days, the flame flickers, for who now instructs us in tenderness, in wonder, in joy? Our fairy tales promised a kingdom where love conquered all and life ended in harmony. But in the world of men, no guide shows us how to weave that ending in truth. Schools teach numbers and facts, but rarely do they teach compassion. Leaders teach ambition, but not always wisdom. Thus we are left adrift, with treasures in our hands but emptiness in our hearts.

Consider the story of Leo Tolstoy, the mighty writer of Russia. In his youth, he chased after honor, gambling, pleasures, and war. Yet when these filled his life, he found himself in despair, unable to answer the simplest question: “How should a man live?” He had achieved all that the world praised, but his spirit was hollow. Only when he turned to love, to simplicity, and to service did he rediscover the lost art of feeling, and his later works—like Resurrection and The Kingdom of God Is Within You—became fountains of wisdom for humanity. His journey shows that to live “happily ever after” is not to grasp at pleasure, but to return to the heart.

History too is filled with peoples who sought greatness while forgetting joy. The empire of Rome rose in splendor but drowned in excess and cruelty. Its citizens hungered for entertainment in the arenas, but their homes were barren of peace. Contrast this with the small villages of old, where communities sang, worked, and feasted together. Their lives were humble, yet their hearts were full, for they had not forgotten the sacred power of shared laughter, song, and love. The measure of happiness is not in empires but in the soul’s capacity to feel.

The lesson of Smirnoff’s words is simple yet profound: happiness is not found ready-made, nor guaranteed by wealth, nor promised by power. It is taught in the living of daily life, in the weaving of kindness, in the cherishing of love, in the cultivation of gratitude. If no one teaches us, then we must become teachers ourselves, to our children, to our friends, to our own hearts. For to feel is not weakness—it is the strength that sustains life, the music that makes all labor meaningful.

What then are the practical actions we must take? Begin by listening—to yourself and to others. When anger arises, ask what wound lies beneath. When joy comes, linger with it, let it fill your heart. Share your feelings with honesty, and receive the feelings of others with compassion. Tell stories, not of conquest and profit, but of love, forgiveness, and beauty. Let children see that life is not only about victory, but about gentleness and courage of the heart. In this way, the forgotten art of feeling will be taught anew.

So remember, O seeker: no kingdom will hand you a “happily ever after.” You must write it yourself, in the daily script of kindness, in the song of gratitude, in the courage of love. The world has forgotten how to feel, but you need not. Be as a teacher of joy, a sower of tenderness, a guardian of wonder. And when your story is told, it will be said that you did not merely live—you taught others how to live with heart.