To be happy, we must destroy any notion of this world being a concrete reality. We must find and foster a personally plausible theory of existence that supports the idea that life is illusory — whether we believe it’s by magic or simulation or incomplete sensory input, it doesn’t really matter.
What matters is that we believe this world isn’t ultimately real, it’s not factual but fictional. We must dismantle any confidence we may possess about life’s inception or progression. We cannot know what was, or what will be. Life is a mystery and always will be.
This outlook does not diminish our experience, just as knowing the artificial nature of books or movies doesn’t lessen our enjoyment. It doesn’t make us care or participate any less, it simply lessens our anxiety and seriousness. We no longer need tiptoe as if on a precipice.
The more we investigate life, the more convincing this outlook becomes. This is no leap of faith, but the culmination of a search for truth — reality cannot be found. What we see, smell, hear, taste, touch is ever influenced by our imagination. Upon realizing this, the weight of the world is lifted.