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A woman with grey hair and a scarf sits on a train, gazing out the window at a blurry, dark, rainy landscape. A book titled 'The Science of Happiness' lies beside her.

A woman with grey hair and a scarf sits on a train, gazing out the window at a blurry, dark, rainy landscape. A book titled 'The Science of Happiness' lies beside her.

In 2013, I was sitting on the late-night train back from New York to Philadelphia and was contemplating quitting… everything. Between trying to be a good parent and partner, the incessant pressure to publish and perform at work, the never-ending pile of chores—it was all too much. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day to get it all done, let alone to do any of it well. The coordinating and preparing and doing—it seemed to require a zesty superhero’s level of energy, and I had run out. I rested my forehead against the chilled window and watched the dark blur of trees and houses whiz by. I’d given a talk that day at Columbia Business School, sharing my latest research on how the quality of our happiness changes as we grow older. My presentation had been efficiently slotted into lunchtime, flanked by hours of back-to-back meetings, followed by a colleague dinner, throughout which I worked to stay on pace with the guys in witty banter and throwing back beers. Speeding in a taxi to the station, I prayed I wouldn’t miss the last train home. Though my typical days didn’t begin in a New York City hotel room, they were similarly jam-packed and no less frenzied. I’d wake at dawn to go for a run and come back for a quick snuggle with my four-month-old, Leo, before racing to get ready and dashing to my office. Inside the bustling halls of Wharton, I’d hurriedly try to get my work done in between seminars and meetings. Then I would dash home to relieve our nanny at 6 p.m. Between Mehr sehen