The Happiness Algorithm
A heuristic journey into what it means to be happy
This text was originally writen in Portuguese here! Please let me know if something is not clear. Thanks for reading!
Clara began her Friday like so many others: the alarm rang at 6:15, the smell of coffee filled the apartment, and her phone notifications reminded her of how many tasks she would have to tackle that day.
But that morning something bothered her more than the traffic noise; an age-old question hammered away: “After all, what does it mean to be happy?” Determined not to postpone the dilemma, Clara turned her commute into a philosophical expedition—each block lit by the reflection of centuries of debate on happiness.
Right at the subway entrance she ran into Tomás, her neighbor from the same floor, who always greeted her with a genuine smile.
He reminded her of Socrates, Clara thought: he was always asking everyone about justice, courage, prudence. Once, Tomás had turned down a promotion because it would have involved manipulating data for clients. He preferred to keep his virtue intact rather than earn more.
Clara realized that for the Socratics and Platonists, being happy means tending to one’s soul—even if the wallet complains. She wondered: how much of my inner peace have I traded for conveniences?
Three stations later Clara got off and walked through the park.
She saw her friend Helena training for a run, an exemplar of discipline. At night Helena studied cello; on weekends she did volunteer work. Aristotle would call this eudaimonia—flourishing throughout life, balancing reason, virtues, and external goods in the right measure.
Clara recalled when she had tried to learn French for three weeks and quit: perhaps Aristotelian constancy was the missing link between her projects and lasting satisfaction.
On the corner near the office, the scent of freshly baked bread dominated the air. Clara saw Paulo, a coworker, leaving the bakery with a bag and laughing out loud with the couple of friends who accompanied him.
Paulo often organized simple picnics, shut off his phone, and savored every sip of coffee as if it were rare. Epicurus surfaced there, translated into everyday life: serene pleasure, the absence of pain and turmoil, sought among trustworthy company and frugal habits. Clara made a mental note to schedule a home-cooked dinner—no social-media photos, just laughter.
Suddenly the sky clouded over and a heavy rain poured down.
Some passers-by cursed at all that water. Others nervously opened their umbrellas. Only an elderly man in a worn suit remained serene, arms crossed, watching the drops.
The scene reminded her of the Stoics: accept everything that does not depend on us; direct our will toward what we can change. Perhaps, Clara thought, giving up the fight against internal weather changes—sad memories, postponed deadlines—was a shortcut to apatheia, the tranquility that arises when life stops being a battle against the inevitable.
Arriving at the building where she works, Clara crossed the lobby that housed a small chapel. There, every morning, Luciana lit a candle and said a brief prayer before starting the day’s accounting.
For Augustine, only a loving union with God truly satisfies; for Thomas Aquinas, the beatific vision is the highest form of blessedness, begun here in acts of charity and fulfilled beyond time.
Luciana donated part of her salary to a nursing home—a practice that, in Thomistic eyes, unites moral virtue and divine grace. Clara, though not religious, felt respect for the peace that transcendental dimension seemed to offer.
At lunchtime, the team was discussing which projects to cut to fit the annual budget. Gabriel suggested evaluating total impact instead of immediate profit: “If the platform we’re about to discontinue still helps hundreds of people find jobs, is it worth the savings?”
It was utilitarianism in practice—maximizing the well-being of the greatest number. Next came dilemmas about confidentiality: disclose technical problems to the client now or wait for a fix?
Clara remembered Kant: fulfill duty out of moral obligation, not for gain. Disclosing was uncomfortable, but it was the “categorical imperative” in action. Doing the right thing might cost bonuses, yet it promised the “worthy happiness” of someone with a clean conscience.
In the afternoon, while reviewing a fraud report, Clara felt the weight of fatigue. She wondered whether all this corporate effort made sense. She recalled literature classes in which she read Nietzsche: the philosopher invited us to affirm life with its pains and create our own values—to transform weaknesses into power and practice amor fati.
Perhaps, she thought, she could see each spreadsheet as a step toward the independence she dreamed of: the online photography course she had wanted to launch for years. It was then that Julián, a Chilean colleague, confided that he would quit his job to travel with an NGO. Kierkegaard and Sartre would have approved: to exist is to choose oneself, to take risks, to live authentically even if the world deems it absurd.
At the end of the workday, the boss announced that the time-bank policy would be changed to require more physical presence. A murmur of discouragement filled the room. Clara recalled Freud reading in a café: culture imposes renunciations that strangle desires, making happiness something always incomplete.
Marcuse would say that only by rethinking the structures—perhaps moving to flexible hours, cooperatives, or a basic income—could space open for less repressed joy. Clara felt the weight of having to negotiate every small slice of free time with a system larger than herself.
Before heading home, she decided to take a walk.
In the park she saw a group practicing guided meditation. The instructor cited contemporary research on subjective well-being: people report greater satisfaction when they sleep well, cultivate bonds, and have a sense of purpose larger than themselves.
She also spoke about Buddhist mindfulness, the full attention that steadies the mind by observing sensations without judging them. Finally, she handed out cards with the five PERMA pillars of Positive Psychology: positive emotions, engagement, relationships, meaning, and achievements.
Clara tried it right there: she took a deep breath, noticed the smell of wet earth, remembered a dear friend, thought about the photography-teaching project, and smiled discreetly. It felt like a mini-lab of all the theories she had encountered throughout the day.
On the way back the storm ceased, and the asphalt reflected the city lights. Clara understood that no theory is a ready-made recipe, but each provides a different lens.
Combining virtue, purpose, balanced pleasure, acceptance of the inevitable, human bonds, service to others, and self-awareness—this mosaic, adjusted daily, may well be the possible art of being happy and, most importantly, an act of choice built from the reality one lives.