The day I realized I was the world’s most spoiled brat was also the day I finally started feeling happy.
It wasn’t what I expected. After all, calling someone a “spoiled brat” is rarely a compliment. But a few weeks into an intentional gratitude practice, something unexpected happened. I caught myself laughing and saying out loud: “I’m the world’s most spoiled brat.” Not from a place of entitlement but from a sudden, profound realization that I already had everything that truly mattered. That I’d been blind to what was here all along.
Last year during a check-in, my coach reflected something back to me that caught me off guard. I kept saying things like “I need to do this” or “I should be doing that” or worst of all: “once I do this, then I’ll get that, and then I’ll be happy.” The irony wasn’t lost on me. I notice these patterns in my clients all the time, yet there I was, caught in the same loop. In that moment, I realized what I wanted was simply to be happy. And I wondered: could it be as simple as a decision to just be happy now?
I know this cycle intimately. I’ve lived it repeatedly. I’d chase after some new skill or knowledge, telling myself “once I master this, then I’ll finally have what I need to succeed,” only to reach that milestone and immediately set my sights on the next ‘meaningful’ pursuit. The brief satisfaction from each achievement would fade within days, sometimes hours, as I convinced myself that the next book, course, or methodology would be the one to finally bring lasting fulfillment. The cycle was relentless and familiar.
Social psychologists call this the “hedonic treadmill”—our persistent tendency to return to a baseline of happiness regardless of what happens to us. We chase achievements thinking they’ll permanently elevate our happiness, but the effect quickly fades, leaving us chasing the next high. Arthur Brooks, whose work on happiness has deeply influenced my thinking, puts it perfectly: “Material success leads to a one-night stand with happiness at best.” I’d experienced this truth repeatedly, yet kept falling for the same illusion.
A close friend once encouraged me to ‘just smile and see what happens.’ At the time, it felt way too simple. But I remembered Thich Nhat Hanh’s wisdom: ‘Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.’ That same friend also told me about someone he knew who started a genuine gratitude practice—and watched their entire reality begin to shift.
So I tried something different. Not a quick gratitude list, but a 20-30 minute unrushed journaling practice. I gave myself enough time and space to actually feel the emotions around being grateful for what I already have.
The first week was challenging. While writing, I’d genuinely feel it—the gratitude would become real and alive in my body. But as soon as I stopped, the noise would rush back with a vengeance. “Yeah but…” “Not until you…” “What about when…” But I kept going. And after a couple weeks, something shifted. Not in a dramatic way, but in a knowing way. I noticed my first thoughts upon waking weren’t immediately problem-solving or planning, but a quiet recognition of what was already good. Small pleasures—morning light, a perfect cup of coffee—began registering more deeply. I started feeling, deep down, that everything was all good. Just as it is.
From that place, joy and happiness began to emerge naturally, in a way I hadn’t experienced in years. Brooks captures this insight brilliantly: “Abundance without gratitude leads to entitlement, which kills happiness.” I was living in abundance but experiencing entitlement’s emptiness until gratitude transformed my perspective.
Research from psychologists like Martin Seligman and Robert Emmons confirms what I was experiencing. Their studies show that gratitude practices don’t just temporarily boost mood—they actually create lasting changes in brain function and dramatically increase baseline happiness. Essentially, gratitude rewires neural pathways to notice positive aspects of life that we previously filtered out.
To be clear, this isn’t about abandoning growth or goals. I’m still ambitious. Finding and living my personal mission brings me a kind of satisfaction that nothing else can match. But I realized I had been doing all the “right” things—fitness, nutrition, community, relationships, purpose work—with an unconscious bargain: if I do these things consistently enough, then happiness will arrive. I was putting my happiness in the hands of future outcomes I have no control over. The real shift was continuing to remind myself, unrushed and honest, how lucky I already am.
There was a time when I couldn’t imagine a life where I’d be happy without altering my state of consciousness. As an alcoholic and addict, I chased artificial feelings through substances, unable to imagine just being content in my own skin. Now I have work I love. A family I cherish. A life I never thought possible for someone with my history. Recovery gave me the foundation and essential tools to build this beautiful life. It transformed everything. And this decision to be happy now—not after the next achievement—was another powerful step in that ongoing journey.
A couple weeks into my gratitude practice, I found myself laughing at how obvious it all was. I already had everything money can’t buy: Integrity. Being actually useful to others. Self-respect. Health. People who love me as I am.
I know millionaires and billionaires who have hit all the markers of success that society defines as “making it” but are completely miserable. Why? They’re still chasing something they think will finally bring them happiness.
As I practiced gratitude, I began to recognize a beautiful irony: feeling like “the world’s most spoiled brat” meant I needed less stuff, not more. As Brooks says, “The secret to human happiness is not found in seeking more, but in developing the capacity to enjoy less.” This realization led me toward essentialism. I started purging belongings, selling things on Facebook Marketplace and eBay.
Then came the Palisades fire, where friends lost their homes entirely. Another powerful reminder: I need to release attachment to stuff, especially stuff I expect to bring me happiness. I still appreciate quality tools that get used often. But living through multiple wildfire scares has made me do the exercise of asking what’s truly important. My whole computer including all of our important documents and photos is backed up on the cloud. The rest can burn, and we’d be okay as long as we’re safe. Even my late father’s belongings—I realized they’re just stuff that won’t be used. My wife loves one of his old jackets and wears it often, but the rest? Just things.
I’ve spent years surrounding myself with successful people, believing that proximity to excellence would somehow transform me through osmosis. It’s the “you become the average of the five people you spend the most time with” approach—a genuine strategy for growth, not just association. The problem wasn’t just that it didn’t work. It actively undermined my happiness.
When a friend in the film industry would land a big win, I’d smile and congratulate them, but inside I’d hear that cruel inner voice: “What the fuck are you doing, Gautham? Look at them succeeding while you’re standing still.” The absurdity is that I’m not even in the film industry. I don’t want to be. But I was constantly comparing myself with giants who were simply following their authentic paths.
Comparison isn’t just the thief of joy—it’s the saboteur of purpose. I realized something unsettling: my attention is finite. Each moment spent measuring my progress against someone else’s journey wasn’t just making me unhappy—it was actively preventing me from discovering what truly mattered to me. I was so busy watching other people’s paths that I couldn’t see where my own feet were standing.
What’s changed is beautiful. I’m still friends with those same successful people, but now I can genuinely celebrate their wins without that internal flinch. When a friend shares their latest achievement, I feel actual joy—not the manufactured kind that masks inadequacy. I’m no longer in silent competition with them because I recognize we’re on entirely different paths. I’ve realized that I have a seat at the table because of who I am, not what I do in the world. And I can finally show up as a friend rather than as a comparison algorithm disguised as one.
That was the missing piece: I wasn’t on my path. I was performing someone else’s script. Once I recognized this pattern, I knew something fundamental needed to change. I needed to stop pursuing external markers of success and start cultivating something more essential within.
So what changed everything? Making a decision to be happy now, then doing the simple act of an unrushed gratitude practice until it rewired my reality. My goal this year is to continue to lighten up. To keep noticing how I might be the world’s most spoiled brat after all. Not because I have everything figured out, but because I’ve finally noticed how beautiful life already is. And I’m not in such a rush to fix it anymore.
Try it. Not the quick gratitude list, but an intentional practice where you give yourself time to truly feel the emotions around the things you’re grateful for. Consider this an invitation. Not to the quick, check-the-box gratitude list. But to the kind of intentional practice that might feel uncomfortably earnest at first—giving yourself unrushed time to connect with the emotions around what you already have. To sit with both the resistance and the release that follows. To notice what happens not just to your mood, but to your entire orientation toward what “enough” really means.
The moment you realize you’re already the world’s most spoiled brat—already in possession of what truly matters—is the moment you’re finally free to enjoy it.
