Have you ever found that when you finally arrive at a destination, it doesn’t seem quite as exciting as you imagined?
The anticipation and imagination of what it would be like at that yearned-for endpoint is often much more enjoyable as a vicarious goal than the actual reality on the ground.
It starts when we are children. Summer vacation is something we look forward to all year, eagerly counting down the days until the end of school. Yet, once the holidays actually start, children quickly begin complaining and whining about being bored. At some stage of the long break, many kids secretly look forward to resuming school (albeit they won't admit it when asked).
Is it any different with adults?
How often does someone pursue a goal—whether it’s wealth, influence, or a specific status—believing it will bring them happiness and personal fulfillment, only to discover that the reality requires a level of responsibility, commitment, and consistency they didn't bargain for?
I have watched people rise to financial wealth and then start to feel insecure, overburdened, and self-conscious—almost regretting their newfound success. As an elusive goal, money seems to be a ticket to happiness. So does fame. If you are an "influencer" trying to gain subscribers and followers on social media, you imagine that when you hit your goal of reaching millions of fans, you will be the happiest person around.
Yet, it doesn’t seem to be that way. Too many famous people are downright miserable.
This week, I was counseling one of my young Jewish friends who recently lost a friend of his. His friend was a well-known influencer who achieved fame and money before the age of thirty, but died prematurely due to a freak accident. Because of my indirect connection, I picked up on some posts this celebrity influencer had made not long ago. They indicated clearly that being incredibly popular and sought-after had not made his life happier or easier; rather, it made his life more challenging and filled with anxiety.
He deeply questioned his success. Did people really follow him because of who he was, or merely because he was a good actor?
This really jolted me. This was a person who regularly posted about topics he considered beneficial to his viewers. He wasn’t questioning whether he had provided value; he was disturbed and unnerved by the fact that he was not being "true" to his inner self.
And I ask: So what?
Is the most important thing in life to be who I think I should be, or to do what the Creator created me for?
I am fully aware that today’s society considers one of the most compelling missions of life to be reaching self-actualization, filled with a sense of meaning and purpose that spells happiness. In and of itself, it is noble to try to fulfill your potential. And generally, these two tracks are meant to be one and the same. G-d gives you talents and abilities and puts you in scenarios that all point to the mission He chose for you.
In a more general sense, when a Jew keeps Torah and Mitzvahs, it is the surest expression of self-actualization. It is the only recipe to achieve true, authentic, and deep happiness. G-d created us and gave us the "manufacturer's guide" to self-fulfillment, which is oneness with G-d.
Yet for some people, once they develop their potential, they start to feel an unease. This can lead to "losing the plot." It may even feel spiritually compelling to step out of G-d’s plans and seek an alternative spiritual destination.
This week’s Torah Parsha spells it out. Let me explain what I mean.
This week’s parsha refers back to the mistake and sin of the spies. They rejected going into Israel. Why? They had waited 210 years through exile and torture in Egypt to finally come out and be led to the Promised Land—a land flowing with milk and honey. Why did they reject it?
Because they sent spies to scout the land and bring back a report. In a sense, they got a glimpse—almost like a virtual reality look—at what living in the anticipated destination of Israel would actually look and feel like. And they didn’t like what they saw one bit.
The desert was spiritual bliss. They were surrounded by clouds of glory and ate manna from heaven. Entering Israel, however, meant they would have to work the land and live a fulfilling but mundane life.
"Not for us," said the spies. Most of the people agreed with them, preferring to stay in the desert.
We all know how that turned out. Hashem and Moshe were far from happy (to put it mildly) about the choice the Jews were making to avoid Israel. Where did they go wrong? They didn’t realize that the truest and deepest connection to the Divine would come through getting their hands dirty by tilling and working the soil. Hashem desired that the mitzvahs be fulfilled in a physical way, which could only be realized by entering the physical Land of Israel.
I am reminded of a similar scenario that happened with the Rebbe. It was during the large Purim celebration in 1955. The Rebbe asked who would want to be blessed with the gift of wealth. Out of the many hundreds in attendance, only a few people raised their hands.
Why didn’t more raise their hands?
Because although wealth is usually viewed as "rosy" and desirable, the Rebbe had first spoken at length about the immense responsibility and challenge of being wealthy. This shifted the mindset of the crowd from viewing money naturally—as a key to an easier, happier life—to viewing it as a powerful, demanding mission that carries psychological and spiritual challenges.
The Rebbe had described this reality with such vivid color that, in a sense, he had taken them on a "virtual journey" into the demands wealth places upon a person. In response, the crowd maturely demurred, hesitant to take upon themselves this harder path.
But the Rebbe was disappointed. Because that hesitation missed the point of what life is all about: to do what Hashem wants of us. Hashem wants us to use the wherewithal of money to be His treasurers here on earth—to perform acts of kindness, charity, and goodness. Even if it’s a more challenging path.
Let me tell you a story:
A Chassid once came to the Alter Rebbe with a list of personal struggles and needs, asking for a blessing. The Alter Rebbe looked at him and said: "You are highly concerned with what you need from the Almighty. But you haven't asked: What does the Almighty need from you?"
This single sentence, with all of its depth, penetrated the Chassid’s mind and heart so deeply that he fainted on the spot. It speaks perfectly to the tension that can sometimes exist between personal desire and divine mission.
Like in the case of the spies who preferred the spiritual sanctuary of the desert, where manna fell from heaven and their material needs were miraculously met. They feared that entering the Land of Israel meant losing their spiritual focus to grueling, physical labor. However, the Almighty wanted them to go and live a physical life in Israel.
Chassidic thought teaches that their sin was a bit more subtle than it seems. It was the mistake of choosing their own version of spiritual fulfillment over what G-d actually expected of them—which, of course, would have led them to an even deeper spiritual fulfillment than they could have foreseen.
The Rebbe was disappointed when the Chassidim didn’t opt-in to the blessing of wealth for the exact same reason. The Rebbe reminded us that wealth is a mission-oriented gift, given specifically to expand and enhance what one can do for G-d by helping others, even though it comes with immense challenges.
The same applies to influencers, or to people gifted in any of the multiple ways G-d bestows His blessings.
When we achieve success and then face unanticipated hardships at our destination, conventional wisdom tells us to ask, "Is this making me feel fulfilled? Am I self-actualizing to my greatest capacity?"
Torah wisdom teaches us that the question should not be "What am I getting out of this?" but rather, "What am I needed for? How do I serve G-d through this specific reality?"
I have found this question to be present among many people these days. I find it especially pronounced as people proceed into the more advanced decades of their productive lives (kind of ‘midlife crisis?), once major goals have already been achieved. A person "knows" they should be happy, but somehow, that anticipated happiness isn't there.
What should we do?
Sometimes a big change is needed.
But often life just needs reframing.
Ask not what makes me happy; rather, ask, "What am I needed for? What does G-d want of me?"
How do you know which is true in your case?
This is precisely why the instruction in Pirkei Avot, "Aseh lecha rav" ("Make for yourself a rabbi/mentor"), is indispensable. A mentor who holds the values of Torah-based morality provides an objective mirror. They help you look past the external illusions of success or the heavy fatigue of responsibility, guiding you back to your ultimate purpose. A mentor can help you look at yourself objectively so that you don’t run away from the responsibilities and gifts that G-d has entrusted to you.
If you are feeling a little disenchanted with what you are doing in life, before making a drastic U-turn, try this piece of Torah wisdom: Do a spiritual "checkup." Take counsel with a wise person who can guide you.
May we all be blessed with the ability to know and commit to G-d’s Divine plan for each and every one of us. This will reach its blissful peak with the coming of Mashiach, NOW.
AMEN.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yosef Kantor