I've been listening to Justin Vernon talk about getting happy, and honestly, it's messing with my whole theological framework.
On a recent NYTimes podcast, the Bon Iver guy — patron saint of melodic sadness — talks about windows down, sunshine, and being okay. After years of what he calls "the last gasping breath of my former self that really did feel bad for himself," he's landed somewhere new. Not in denial. Not in toxic positivity. Just... okay.
The Aspiration Hangover
I was reminiscing the other day about when Alex and I were first married. We were in our 20s. The world was wide open in front of us. Everything was possible. In my mind, we were going to manifest our dreams, visualize our way to abundance, and basically become the poster children for manifestation guru success and Instagram-ready enlightenment.
Looking back, nothing worked out exactly as I visualized. I'm grateful now that it didn't (thanks be to God!). But for many years, I thought this endeavor called life was something I needed to get better at mastering.
The thing about aspiration is that it can become its own religion.
The Church of What Could Be.
And when your future self becomes your god, your present self becomes the sacrifice.
I got tired of being a burnt offering to the idol of my own ‘potential.’
The Beautiful Descent
So I found my way to the cross. To a theology that says we're not gods in training — we're beloved screw-ups who need saving from our own nightmare. The Lutheran in me loves this lower anthropology, this honest assessment of human frailty.
Martin Luther talked about how we're simul justus et peccator — simultaneously justified (aka "whole" in today's vernacular) and sinful (aka "disconnected from God’s love"). We are saint and sinner all at once. 100% of each 100% of the time. It's a divine dichotomy and a beautiful one at that.
There's something deeply restful about this. No more exhausting climb toward enlightenment. No more spiritual report cards. Just grace, holding us exactly where we are — even at the bottom of the pit.
And it went even deeper than this for me. I learned that God was most present at the "foot of the cross." Most active where the eyes of glory and ego don't look: in suffering, sadness, leastness, lostness, and brokenness. This was revolutionary. Amazing, even.
But then I started feeling guilty for looking for God anywhere else. If God was truly found in the shadows, what was I supposed to do with joy when it showed up? The necessary descent into reality became a permanent address. The healthy skepticism of my own ego became a suspicious eye turned toward any flicker of hope. I started confusing melancholy with depth, cynicism with insight.
The Muck Gets Old
In the interview I mentioned above, Justin Vernon says he's been tired for a long time. "That's no good way to live," he admits. And I want to high-five him through the screen because yes, being perpetually tired is not a spiritual achievement.
We live in a world that's genuinely heartbreaking. The news is a daily assault on hope. Our politics are poisoned. Our planet is struggling. Our communities are fractured. It makes sense that we'd armor ourselves with a kind of protective pessimism. There seems to be a malaise spreading across humanity like a slow fog. But here’s what’s occurring to me lately...
You can acknowledge the darkness without moving in permanently.
You can be realistic about the world's brokenness without making cynicism your home address.
As Marianne Williamson puts it, "Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are." But first, we have to allow ourselves to look.
You and I don't deserve to be here. But here we are. God owes us nothing. Our next heartbeat is not a given. Not a privilege. Every moment here is a gift. A chance to feel life. To open ourselves to the love that fuels the cosmos. But this love can only be experienced in a non-ideal world.
Second Aspiration
I'm borrowing from Paul Ricoeur's idea of "second naivete" — that place where you return to wonder after you've been through the crucible of critical thinking. But I want to talk about something I'm calling "second aspiration."
'First aspiration' is the ego's project. It's about becoming someone impressive, accumulating experiences and achievements, achieving heightened status, and manifesting the 'perfect' life (whatever that means). It's exhausting because it's built on the quicksand of never-enough.
'Second aspiration' is different. It's rooted in the radical acceptance that we don't have control and that's okay! It's actually the grand design. Thanks be to God! We're already loved, already enough, already home. No hustle required. From that place of rest, we can dream again — not because we need to prove anything, but because joy is our birthright and hope is our calling.
We're not trying to become something we're not — we're remembering who we've always been.
Windows Down Theology
Jesus didn't come to make us perpetually somber. (Though you wouldn't know it from some church committees.) He came to a wedding and made the good wine better. He told stories about banquets and celebrations. He said his yoke was easy and his burden was light.
"It is finished," he said. Not, "Keep grinding." Not, "Prove yourself worthy." Not, "Prove your devotion through endless suffering." But rather...
It is finished.
Which means we get to live like it's finished. We get to join Justin Vernon and roll the windows down and feel the sunshine. We get to be okay — not because we've achieved some milestone, but because the work of becoming okay was already done for us.
This doesn't mean we bypass the real struggles or pretend everything is fine when it's not. It means we can stop making suffering our identity and start making joy our practice.
The Dare of Happiness
Maybe the most radical thing we can do in a world addicted to outrage and despair is to accept permission to be genuinely happy. Not the manic happiness of denial, but the deep contentment of people who know they're loved.
Frederick Buechner wrote that "the place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." But first, you have to believe you're actually allowed to have deep gladness.
I'm 45 years old. I've been through enough spiritual seeking and dark nights of the soul to know that the darkness is something I always have to deal with. But I'm also old enough to know that the light is more real.
And I'm tired of choosing the darkness just because it feels more sophisticated.
Getting There
So how do we get there? How do we find our way back to aspiration without falling into the old traps? Here are a few things that come to mind for what they're worth:
Start where you are. Here. Now. Let it be enough. Practice gratitude as a way of seeing. Notice what's already good. Notice what's already working. Notice what's already beautiful. Dream small. Instead of manifesting your perfect ideal life, live into the gift of the Tuesday that's right in front of you. Remember you're loved. Not because of what you do or don't do, but because love is the ground of your being. Jesus showed us this, once and for all. You can't earn it. You can't lose it. You can only receive it.
The Long Yes
The mystics tell us that the spiritual life is ultimately about saying yes. Yes to what is. Yes to what could be. Yes to the mystery of being alive in this beautiful, broken world.
I'm ready to say yes again. Not to the exhausting work of designing my life, but to the gentle work of receiving it.
Windows down. Sunshine on your face. The surprising peace of love.
It's time to get happy without attachment to outcomes I can't control.
It's time to aspire again.
P.S. I'd love to hear about your own journey with aspiration. Have you found yourself stuck in the muck of protective pessimism? What does "second aspiration" look like in your life? Hit reply or comment in the post and let me know — I read every email and often share insights from readers in future posts. Your insights help me write these posts better. Thank you.
“And when your future self becomes your god, your present self becomes the sacrifice.”
Wow, Jonas. There's no question you're an outstanding communicator through your writing, but this? Brother, this is exemplary. One of your best!