Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness — those were the three inalienable rights laid out 250 years ago in the Declaration of Independence, America’s founding document. The last part of the phrase can also be perceived as a challenge: You have life. You have liberty. The rest is up to you.
We sought to understand how Americans are taking up that challenge in 2026.
The pursuit takes many forms. Some are relatively concrete, like chasing the enduring dream of upward mobility — material wealth, professional success, fame. But many people are engaged in far more nebulous quests, for clarity or purpose, exhilaration or serenity.
But a single theme stood out across geographic, demographic and philosophical lines: To be American, it seems, is to strive. Something better, something more fulfilling, could be within reach if you are willing to chase it.
In other words, the pursuit is the point.
Doug Garr did the math: In his 77 years, he has spent roughly a day and a half of his life in free falls.
He is approaching his 2,500th skydiving jump, having spent decades chasing the unmatched exhilaration that comes from leaping out of a plane 13,500 feet in the sky.
“We’re in our element,” said Mr. Garr, a writer in New York. “We can kind of escape reality, which is the ups and downs and the tensions of normal life.”
He sky-dived for the first time at 20. He lied on a form about his age because the company required jumpers to be at least 21. On the plane, he remembered being petrified. On the ground, he laughed hysterically.
“I had just cheated death,” he recalled.
That feeling was all it took.
Eventually, his wife gave him an ultimatum: skydiving or her.
He chose her.
Decades went by without a jump. But his wife had a stroke, and in 2008 he found himself in need of a release from the stress of caring for her. He returned to skydiving.
He now jumps as often as several times a month, keeping watch for the right conditions: clear skies, steady winds, warm temperatures. He will head to New Jersey or Connecticut with his skydiving friends, and they might jump a few times over the course of a day.
The chase cannot last forever. He knows he is getting older. Someday, he will surrender his parachute and his car keys to his son. But that day isn’t here yet. He still needs to get to his 2,500th jump.
By Christina Morales
Visuals by Meghan Marin
Barb White and her husband, Kyle, applied for the gig as volunteer lighthouse keepers on a lark.
The location was dreamy: Baileys Harbor, a fishing town of 1,400 people on the Door Peninsula in northeast Wisconsin, jutting into Lake Michigan. The job seemed simple enough, spending a week as live-in docents on a nature preserve, greeting a stream of daily visitors to the lighthouse and explaining its 157-year history.
They were accepted. And three years in, the week at the lighthouse each summer is a highlight of their year, a literal beacon of happiness. But it has gone beyond that.
“We’re always thinking, what is the week at the lighthouse going to reveal — some new thinking, some new awareness?” Ms. White said on a recent morning. “The lighthouse shows the way.”
Ms. White, a former teacher who is now a consultant, and Mr. White, an artist, have been married for 35 years. Now they save their weightiest life decisions for the lighthouse. They use the week to step back from their busy lives and let their minds wander in other directions. They kayak in the bay and hike through the woods.
About 100 people show up at the lighthouse each day for an informal tour. Mr. White said that during his first summer as a docent, he prepped like a madman, immersing himself in the history of the lighthouse.
It was useful preparation. But he has been struck by how many people who show up just want to talk, conversations that leave him with a deep sense of satisfaction.
“That’s the joyful thing in life — how do you know your neighbor?” Mr. White said. “Through telling stories, hearing other people’s stories.”
By Julie Bosman
Visuals by Jamie Kelter Davis
Trần Vũ Thu Hằng, 64, Hull, Mass. After putting her family first for decades, Ms. Trần now finds happiness in creating floral designs for museums.
“The pursuit of happiness meant, first, helping my family with seven younger siblings when we escaped Vietnam, and, second, rearing my own three fantastic children and keeping the flame on my marriage to my college sweetheart. Now, 12 years later, happiness comes from the arts.”
David Gardner, 60, Washington Mr. Gardner co-founded The Motley Fool, the stock-picking website. Investing is not just about making money, he says, but learning about the world around him.
“It’s hard to go through this world and not be stung, hurt, surprised at different points throughout life. But if you’re looking for the positive thing, you’re going to find it.”
Min Jin Lee, 57, New York City In her 20s, Ms. Lee quit the law to write novels, including the best-selling “Pachinko.” She wanted work she cared deeply about, not money or recognition.
“I’ve found lots of happiness in my life. It wasn’t because I looked for it. It’s because I did my work, and because I feel OK with the way I live.”
David Leavitt, 65, Gainesville, Fla. Mr. Leavitt, an author and creative writing professor, has come to accept students may find happiness pursuing safer paths, like law school.
“They’ve diverted from the pursuit of happiness in favor of the pursuit of security. Security is a form of happiness.”
Sage Andrew Romero, 46, Big Pine, Calif. Mr. Romero, an artist and member of the Paiute and Taos tribes, teaches younger generations about Native customs and culture through song, dance and art.
“To be able to grow old and to be able to see my community thriving with our Native song, with our Native dance, with our languages — showing that we still have resilience, that we’re still here — to me, that’s the pursuit of happiness.”
Thayer Wilson, 24, Cincinnati Ms. Wilson, who started sewing this year, finds happiness through creating clothing for herself and connecting with her mother, who helps her with challenging projects.
“Sewing is creating a moment of happiness for myself. I have all these goals. I still want to buy a house one day. I still kind of want to have a family. So there are a lot of these big dreams that are going to take a long time to get to.”
Tangala Hollis-Palmer, 42, Grenada, Miss. Ms. Hollis-Palmer, a lawyer, prays — with her children before school, at the start of trials, with people who have made mistakes. Her spirituality fortifies her.
“I am proud to be an American. However, there are -isms that I face that people in my community don’t face, be it ageism, sexism, or racism. And so my spirituality has been my cornerstone of my strength to face those -isms in this great country.”
As soon as Malcolm McFly grabbed the mic at Fort Lauderdale Improv one recent night, he made eye contact with people in the crowd. He joked about the faulty microphone that had disrupted other comic’s sets. And he made a crack about his name — a stage name, actually, created to separate his show business aspirations from his regular life.
He was sending a signal: I’m here to talk to you, not at you. He needed the audience on his side, connected with him. The importance of that he had learned just recently, as he is not even a year into performing as a standup comedian.
“Half of it is jokes,” he said. “But the other half is, can you convince the audience to like you? And if they like you, they’ll laugh at you.”
Making audiences laugh — and the pure pleasure it brings — matters more to him than nearly anything else.
His real name is Malcolm Woods, and by day, he is a software engineer in Miami. The rest of his time is spent performing, writing jokes, recording a podcast, sharing his humor on social media — everything it takes to turn his passion into a sustainable career.
What he really wants is a streaming special. But to get that, he needs an hour of bulletproof material. He has maybe 20 minutes of jokes, most of which he is still polishing.
Mr. Woods has found that good material can come from mining his deepest insecurities: his short stature, or his struggles with dating. Onstage in Fort Lauderdale, he joked that when Bumble and Tinder failed, he turned to Expedia and traveled abroad in the hopes of finding love.
“In Thailand, I’m a catch,” he said. “But in Miami, I’m a release.”
The crowd laughed, loudly and genuinely. He basked.
By Rick Rojas
Visuals by Martina Tuaty
An alien spaceship sits just off a dusty highway in the Mojave Desert. For years, it had existed only as a vision in Luis Ramallo’s mind. But now the giant saucer, made of concrete and steel, is visible to everyone passing through Baker, Calif., an outpost between Los Angeles and Las Vegas.
All it took was Mr. Ramallo’s pluck, fortune and unwavering belief in the sun-bleached town where so many others have seen their ambitions wither in the heat.
He found his version of happiness — opportunity for himself and his family — by taking a big gamble in tiny Baker.
There, his store is the most conspicuous presence on Baker Boulevard: Alien Fresh Jerky, a gleaming emporium of dehydrated meats with the extraterrestrial kitsch of Roswell, N.M., and the gaudy glitz of Vegas.
The business has afforded him a nice life. He drives a BMW and built a sprawling home behind the store.
Still, he wants more. Adjacent to the store, the three-story U.F.O. remains unfinished.
The inspiration for it, he said, came from the one he believes he saw hovering over his property about 25 years ago.
“I went to tell my wife that there was a flying saucer there and when we went to look it was gone,” Mr. Ramallo said. “But that vision stayed with me.”
He set off to build his own version more than a decade ago.. He said that he has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on planning and design alone, and even more on construction costs so far.
But if there is anything that brings him more joy than mulling extraterrestrial life, it is persisting with an audacious dream.
By Orlando Mayorquín
Visuals by Isadora Kosofsky
Susan Semedo — better known as Pebbles, her on-air nickname — spent decades as a Boston radio D.J. and morning show host, her voice familiar to generations of listeners. Since retiring in May, she has begun navigating a new path to happiness.
A single woman who realized years ago that solo adventures, and closeness with family and friends, made her happier than romantic relationships, she is kicking off her next chapter with a bang. She will travel to see her favorite band, the Korean pop group BTS, perform six concerts this summer.
“I still feel the 16-year-old girl in me so strongly, that hopefulness and excitement about life,” Ms. Semedo said. “To feel that energy at 62 is crazy.”
Her love of Korean music and culture began during the pandemic, when she binge-watched the Korean drama “The King’s Affection” on Netflix. She has since traveled to South Korea and begun learning the language. “It just lit something up in me that I was not expecting,” she said.
She is also finding happiness in her decision to remain single by choice. She came to embrace it years ago, after a long relationship ended suddenly, plunging her into depression. Subsequent forays into dating left her drained and questioning the payoff.
She says she still faces pushback from friends who want to set her up. But she thinks the world is changing, with younger generations less ready to assume that every person needs a partner.
And so she finds joy in exploring, often by herself.
“Sometimes happiness comes from just happening upon things, and leaning into them instead of pushing them aside.”
By Jenna Russell
Visuals by Cassandra Klos
Evan Moss, 32, Fayetteville, Ark. Mr. Moss has found joy in being with the friends in the LGBTQ community that he has made throughout the country.
“For me, the pursuit of happiness is being able to live my life freely as a gay man.”
Jaleh Fazel, 84, New York City Ms. Fazel was 10 when she first saw someone making pottery in her native Iran. Teaching pottery, she says, pays the rent and gives her life meaning.
“That has kept me going all these years. Sometimes life has surprises, but if you have something to anchor you it’s very helpful.”
Laurie Santos, 50, New Haven, Conn. Dr. Santos teaches “Psychology and the Good Life,” a popular course at Yale. Behaving with generosity toward others, she says, is what brings happiness.
“The irony is that pursuing happiness actively can sometimes take us away from happiness.”
Olanike Olowokere, 29, Salt Lake City As a cancer researcher, Ms. Olowokere studies how cells respond to stress — how some environments promote healing while others do not.
“In the lab, I study how signals can push cells toward persistence or recovery. Outside the lab, I’ve come to see happiness in a similar light: not as the absence of stress, but as the ability to return to balance.”
Frank Bennett, 56, Emerson, Ga. Mr. Bennett, the founding pastor at Lake Point Church, describes life as a wheel with different spokes: family, work, community and himself. His relationship with God is at the center.
“I can fabricate happiness, but joy is a result of the pursuit of something that Jesus told us: Love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself. You put that in the center, then everything else will be in balance.”
Hadley Vlahos, 33, Biloxi, Miss. Ms. Vlahos, a hospice nurse, has learned about happiness from her patients. It’s not about experiencing extraordinary moments, but making the most of ordinary ones.
“We’re all going to die someday. It’s good to be constantly reminded of it, to try to live life to the fullest.”
Stephen Martinez, 58, Grand Junction, Colo. Mr. Martinez was released from prison after 27 years when his murder conviction was overturned. He seeks happiness by focusing on the little things he missed.
“It’s awesome to be able to go outside, to look around and not see razor wire. To come through the mountains that everyone takes for granted.”
Tom and Terry Sullivan thought they had been doing everything by the book in their pursuit of American happiness. He worked at the post office and she drove a school bus. They bought a house in the Denver suburbs, raised two children, paid their taxes and were planning retirement trips to Ireland.
Then in 2012, their firstborn, Alex, was killed on his 27th birthday in a mass shooting inside a movie theater in Aurora, Colo. In an instant, the Sullivans’ lives were shattered by an unmistakably American form of violence.
“We did all we could, and still, this happens to us,” Mr. Sullivan said. “It all comes crashing down on you.”
The grief, anger and loss will never go away, they said, but they still look for happiness and meaning in close relationships, and in trying to spare other families from enduring what they have. Mr. Sullivan threw himself into gun-control advocacy and became a state legislator. He finds moments of contentment smoking an evening cigar, or in annual escapes to Las Vegas.
Ms. Sullivan gardens, and sometimes wanders through big-box stores to clear her thoughts. At the grocery store, she stops in the flower aisle and inhales the scent.
They take their 4-year-old granddaughter, who looks strikingly like their son, to the community pool and watch her play on a backyard pirate ship.
“It’s not as sunny as it used to be,” Mr. Sullivan said. “There’s a serious undertone.”
Ms. Sullivan said it was like a film had settled over everything now, with a vital piece of their happiness gone forever.
“You have to find ways to find the good,” she said.
By Jack Healy
Visuals by Cheney Orr
David D’Antonio, 65, Oakland, Calif. Mr. D’Antonio just completed his 35th year coaching wrestling at Bancroft Middle School.
“Watching my wrestlers, both boys and girls, overcome fears, push beyond their limitations, make the impossible possible, brings me the greatest joy. Watching these young individuals struggle as they pursue their goals, and I have a hand in it — well, that is happiness.”
Manuel Coronado, 26, Boston Mr. Coronado grew up in Panama with two options: farming or fishing. He came to the U.S. at 18 and plans to become an immigration lawyer.
“I have advantages — a second language, documentation. I have an opportunity to do something.”
Natalia Matiitsiv, 39, DeWitt, Iowa Ms. Matiitsiv and her family fled Ukraine and found refuge in Iowa under a temporary humanitarian program. The sunflower fields there bring her happiness.
“Maybe it’s because we escaped from the war and I can see how cruel people can be. But here I see how kids are welcoming to my kids. How my boss is good for me. How our neighbors are ready to help us.”
Johnny Novokmet, 30, New York City Reviews of rotisserie chicken brought Mr. Novokmet internet fame. Now he takes videos of himself walking 100,000 steps in a day, including through Tokyo and New York.
“The different little cultural aspect of it is awesome and brings me a lot of happiness, and just doing something really hard brings me a lot of happiness, like accomplishing something you don’t know you can accomplish. It just makes anyone feel good.”
Scott Simpson, 53, Greensboro, N.C. Mr. Simpson was addicted to drugs through college, his marriage and his son’s birth. Fellowship Hall, a treatment center, helped him stop. Now he’s a counselor.
“Addiction takes up the space of other normal, everyday desires for happiness: Having a family, a meaningful career, feeling OK about yourself when you lay your head on the pillow.”
Darris Moore wakes up each morning in Unit 26 of the Mississippi State Penitentiary, expecting a day almost exactly like the one before it. He reads the Bible. Exercises. Goes to his job as a cook in the prison restaurant.
That has been his routine for a long time. He knows it could be until he dies.
He entered prison in his early 20s. Back then, he viewed a life sentence as a death penalty of another kind. Now, at 50, his perspective has shifted entirely.
“Twenty-eight years, seven months and I’m going to say about 40-something days right now,” Mr. Moore said of his time served.
And yet: “I am happy.”
Mr. Moore was convicted of fatally shooting another man in 1997 outside a nightclub in Tupelo, Miss. He has served most of his sentence at the state penitentiary, deep in the Delta.
Early on, he was another troubled man in a troubled place.
But he shared a space with an older inmate who seemed immune to the chaos surrounding them. “I want that peace,” Mr. Moore thought. The bunkmate shared Bible verses, including one from I Thessalonians: Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life. You should mind your own business and work with your hands.
That is what he has tried to do.
He received two degrees from the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, which runs a program in the prison. He counsels other men, just as the older inmate counseled him. He helps them navigate addiction, family strife and disputes with other prisoners.
Lately, at his job in the prison restaurant, he has been making “catfish salad,” as he calls it, crumbling bits of fried fish in with lettuce, tomato, pickle, onions and the jalapeños he buys from the canteen.
He wrestles with the repercussions of his crime. He also battles feelings of inadequacy, not having provided for his family all these years.
Yet for all his sins, he believes he has a right to be useful.
“I’m free in the heart and I’m free in the mind,” he said, “and that’s how I find happiness.”
By Rick Rojas
Visuals by Rory Doyle
Produced by Michael Beswetherick, Heather Casey and Rebecca Lieberman.
Rick Rojas, Christina Morales, Julie Bosman, Anemona Hartocollis, Jack Healy, Orlando Mayorquín, Clyde McGrady, Jenna Russell, Eduardo Medina and Jazmine Ulloa contributed reporting. Kirsten Noyes contributed research.
