The young man who would become the Buddha had the leisure to dedicate himself fully to enjoyment—until he realized that most people lacked that opportunity. At age 29 he was belatedly overwhelmed by the realization that life entails suffering. He gave up wealth and privilege to find out what to do about that. His advice was to refuse attachment: cling to nothing and you will not be disappointed! However, that is not exactly a formula for enjoyment. And it is a tall order for natural creatures, whose very existence depends on desire, expectation and judgment.

It is no coincidence that the word ‘happiness’ contains the word ‘happen’, just as ‘enjoyment’ contains ‘joy’. In principle, one might find joy in whatever happens, whereas suffering comes from expectation. But when do we even know what is happening let alone what will happen? In many cases, what leads to disappointment (and mischief!) is a wrong idea about what is happening or of what should happen. A different spin can evoke a different emotional stance.

Perhaps the important question is not how full the glass is, but when does it matter? If you sit in the evening sun with a glass of wine, you can enjoy to the last drop the taste, the colour, the glints and refractions of light. This sort of aesthetic appreciation enjoys one’s own perception as a private “show.” One naturally looks outward for satisfactions, to the realm of hopes and disappointments. Yet, one can also focus on sensory awareness as an inner creation, a sort of artwork, indeed the lifetime work of a nervous system. The greatest show on earth takes place in your own brain!

Disappointment is still possible if the show doesn’t meet expectations. We are conditioned to evaluate. This consumer stance toward experience translates into economic and even sexual behaviour: shopping for better deals or flying from one partner to the next, to satisfy a bottomless hunger for the best experience. It matters less, or differently, when we grasp that we are not only subjects who take in and judge experience, but also agents who can do something useful with it—actors as well as audience. The audience is there to be entertained. But the actors have a different relationship to the play, the scenery, the theatre, the audience, and the other actors. The goal could be to do one’s best in each scene, not to have the best experience on offer. Ironically, the best experience may come of doing one’s best.

We recognize this difference from the outside. We are critical when we see a greedy-looking ego. We also know it from the inside, as a personal choice to be generous, to do good rather than receive it. Anxiety comes from self-concern: whether the right experiences will come to me and whether I can meet the situation. Of course, part of ego’s job is to manage experience. But this can be simply the part of doing good required to keep the local body alive and well. Another part of the job is to do good for others, and for the world. Concern for what one can do to improve their experience works out better for the world than self-concern alone—hence kindness has always been approved. The novel thing is that it may also work out better for oneself.

To paraphrase Jesus, satisfaction comes not from your input but from your output. Of course, to know what is objectively worth doing is tricky. It requires setting aside personal bias and refusing self-deception. For that sort of honesty, Socrates prescribed self-knowledge. Perhaps hemlock for him was just another moderately interesting experience. And we know how it went for Jesus.