It’s one of those questions that has been asked for generations.
“Can money buy happiness?”
When I was younger, my answer would probably have been yes.
Not because I wanted luxury or status, but because I believed money solved problems. More money meant less stress. More freedom. More opportunities. It seemed logical that if you could remove enough worries from life, happiness would naturally follow.
After all, it’s difficult to enjoy life when you’re struggling to pay the bills. But somewhere along the way, my answer began to change.
I’ve met people with very little who radiated joy. I’ve also met people who seemingly had everything; beautiful homes, expensive cars, successful careers; and yet carried a sadness that no amount of money could hide.
Money can buy comfort. It can buy experiences. It can buy security. But it cannot buy peace. It cannot buy meaningful relationships. It cannot buy purpose. It cannot buy the feeling of being truly seen, loved, or accepted.
One of the greatest lessons I learned after burnout was realizing that I had spent years investing in making a living while unintentionally neglecting the art of living.
When I finally stepped away from my career, I didn’t suddenly become happier because I had more money. In fact, I had less. What I gained instead was something I hadn’t made enough time for before. Conversations. Friendships. Travel. Creativity. Time to think. Time to simply be.
Ironically, some of the happiest moments of my life over the past few years have cost almost nothing.
Watching a sunset.
Sharing an ice cream with a friend.
Walking beneath cherry blossoms.
Hearing an audience laugh together during my Fringe show.
Blowing giant bubbles and watching strangers become children again.
None of those moments came with a hefty price tag. They came with presence. Perhaps that’s the real currency of happiness. Not dollars. Attention. The ability to fully experience the moment you’re in.
Of course, money matters. Pretending otherwise ignores the realities of life. Financial security reduces stress, opens doors, and gives us choices that many people don’t have. There is dignity in being able to care for yourself and the people you love.
But beyond that, something interesting happens. The things we remember most rarely appear on a credit card statement. They’re the conversations. The laughter. The unexpected adventures. The quiet mornings. The people who stood beside us.
Maybe we’ve been asking the wrong question all along.
Instead of asking whether money can buy happiness…
Perhaps we should ask whether we’re spending our lives on the things that truly make us happy.
Because one day, none of us will remember how much money we made.
We’ll remember how well we lived.