Why true happiness begins with unlearning what culture taught you

One of the most surprising truths I’ve learned—both through Buddhist practice and through studying human psychology—is that many of the habits we believe are leading us toward happiness are actually taking us further away from it.

We cling to routines, self-help strategies, and social expectations with the hope that consistency will bring clarity.

But what if the very act of clinging—of trying to hold onto something fixed in an ever-changing world—is the root of our suffering?

This article isn’t about adding more to your plate. It’s about subtracting—gently, intentionally. It’s a countercultural exploration into what we might need to release if we truly want to feel at peace.

And to guide us, we’ll lean on the Buddhist principle of Anicca—impermanence—the idea that everything, including our thoughts, moods, relationships, and desires, is in a constant state of flux.

When we resist this truth, we suffer. When we accept it, even momentarily, we open the door to a very different kind of happiness.

Let’s look at three deeply ingrained habits modern culture often rewards—but that might be quietly corroding our sense of presence and contentment.

1. The illusion of control disguised as productivity

We live in a time where being “on top of things” is worn like a badge of honor.

Productivity tools, morning routines, habit trackers—they all promise us a sense of mastery over our chaotic lives.

And don’t get me wrong—structure can be helpful. But beneath the obsession with control is often a deeper anxiety: the fear of uncertainty.

I used to feel like I had to map out my day to the minute just to feel okay. If something derailed my plan, it wasn’t just an inconvenience—it felt like failure.

Over time, I realized that what I was really afraid of wasn’t being unproductive. I was afraid of not being in control.

Impermanence teaches us that control is an illusion. Things shift—unexpectedly, constantly. And ironically, when we try too hard to lock life into a plan, we become less adaptable, more rigid.

What if happiness isn’t about perfect execution, but about fluid presence? What if true productivity is the ability to respond rather than control?

Psychologist Dr. Susan David writes about “emotional agility”—the ability to stay grounded while flexibly navigating life’s ups and downs. That kind of agility comes from accepting that our emotions, plans, and even roles will change. The more tightly we grip them, the more they slip through our fingers.

2. Constant positivity as a form of resistance

There’s a cultural trend right now that equates happiness with positivity at all costs.

We’re told to manifest good vibes, cut out negativity, and reframe every hardship as a blessing.

On the surface, it sounds empowering. But underneath, it often breeds suppression.

When we feel pressure to be upbeat all the time, we lose the permission to be human. And when we judge ourselves for feeling anxious, lost, or tired, we double our suffering.

As the Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön says, “Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible in us be found.”

Happiness, in my experience, is not the absence of difficulty. It’s the capacity to meet difficulty with presence and compassion. To let the hard moments come and go, like weather.

Impermanence reminds us that no emotion—no matter how painful—lasts forever. But when we resist it, pretend it’s not there, or try to rush through it with a forced smile, we extend its stay.

The irony is that when we stop trying to feel good all the time, we actually start to feel more at peace. Because peace comes not from evading discomfort, but from making space for it.

3. Over-identifying with a fixed self-image

Another habit we rarely question is our attachment to identity.

We build narratives about who we are: “I’m a high achiever.” “I’m the helper.” “I’m someone who always keeps it together.”

These identities feel grounding—but they can also become prisons.

In Buddhism, this is called Anatta—non-self. It doesn’t mean we don’t exist. It means we’re not fixed, permanent beings. We are constantly changing—physically, emotionally, psychologically. And yet we try to live as if we’re static.

I used to pride myself on being the dependable one. The one who showed up, held it together, didn’t break down.

But over time, I realized I was denying parts of myself to preserve that image. I didn’t ask for help when I needed it. I avoided rest because I thought it made me weak. And all of that denial was wrapped up in ego—trying to be someone I no longer was.

When we cling to old versions of ourselves, we suffer. When we allow ourselves to grow, to change roles, to feel differently than we did yesterday—we find freedom. And with that freedom often comes a quieter, truer kind of happiness.

A mindfulness shift: Practicing impermanence in daily life

So how do we actually live this truth of impermanence? It starts with noticing. You don’t have to make any grand declarations. Just begin to watch how often your mind wants to grip, fix, define, or plan.

When you catch yourself clinging to a thought or expectation, try saying: “This, too, will pass.” Let it be your gentle reminder that nothing needs to be figured out all at once.

That mood you woke up with? It’s already changing. That identity you feel stuck in? It’s not the whole story.

A practice I’ve found helpful is the “Daily Release.” At the end of each day, I take a few minutes to ask:

• What did I try to control today that didn’t need to be controlled?
• What emotion did I suppress instead of allowing to pass?
• What story about myself am I ready to retire?

It’s not about judgment. It’s about softening. Letting go, again and again.

Letting go to make space

Letting go doesn’t mean giving up. It means making space.

Space for reality to unfold. Space for new ways of being. Space for the kind of happiness that doesn’t depend on everything going your way.

Our culture tells us that happiness comes from adding more—more productivity, more positivity, more self-optimization.

But Buddhism, and much of what I’ve experienced firsthand, points to a different truth: happiness often comes from subtraction. From allowing the moment to be enough, without clinging.

So if your goal is to find happiness in daily life, maybe the first step isn’t to try harder. Maybe it’s to let go. Of control. Of constant positivity. Of who you think you’re supposed to be.

And in that letting go, maybe—just maybe—you’ll find that peace was never as far away as it seemed.