The Tragedies That Taught Me Joy: How Witnessing Global Suffering Deepened My Sense of Happiness

Joy as An Unexpected Result of Witnessing Tragedy

I know it might sound strange, and even uncomfortable, to hear me say that witnessing world tragedies has made me happier. Stay with me; it’s not because I’ve become numb to suffering or blind to the pain that fills this world. In fact, it’s the exact opposite.

Over the past several years, as I’ve watched the world face unimaginable events—global pandemics, entire cities reduced to ashes by wildfires, families shattered by terrorism—something unexpected happened inside me. My sense of gratitude and joy deepened in a way I never saw coming. These heartbreaking moments shattered the quiet illusion I once held: that life is predictable, that safety is guaranteed, that tomorrow will unfold just like today. They showed me how fragile life really is—and therefore, how lucky I am to live the life I do.

With that awareness, my ordinary life has taken on extraordinary beauty. Each morning, I wake up safe. Free. Under a roof. With loved ones who are well. A warm morning coffee in hand. Against the backdrop of tragedy, these simple, everyday blessings now feel sacred.

This quiet but profound shift has transformed my understanding of happiness itself. In the face of global suffering, uncertainty, and loss, I’ve learned that true joy isn’t found in having more—it’s found in fully appreciating what you already have.

The life I have—simple, peaceful, undramatic—is a gift. Every day without tragedy is a miracle. And with this knowing, my happiness feels not fleeting, but deeply rooted. Solid. Real.

In this article, I want to gently walk you through this mindset shift I’ve experienced—with the hope that it might inspire you to see the quiet beauty in your own life, too.

When the Unthinkable Becomes Real

For most of my life, tragedies like these felt far away—distant headlines that happened to someone else, somewhere else. But in the last five years, that illusion shattered.

The global pandemic was the first shock. When I first heard whispers of a COVID outbreak, I was naive to the truth that tragedy can reach anyone, anywhere—including me. I’m a little ashamed to admit that as a teacher at the time, my first thought was, “Fun! Schools are closing.” But then cities fell silent. Families lost loved ones overnight. The world froze as fear filled every corner of life. I remember thinking: How could this be real? How could life change so completely, so fast? And yet, it did. One day everything felt normal. The next, it absolutely wasn’t.

The next shock came on October 7, 2023. In Israel, innocent people were kidnapped or murdered by terrorists—families torn apart in an instant. Many were taken from their beds in the dark of early morning. Now, as I write this over 600 days later, some of these hostages are still trapped in tunnels beneath Gaza—enduring unimaginable terror, while their families wait, pray, and ache. I never thought something like this could happen in our time. But it has. And these aren’t soldiers or heroes in a movie. They are regular people. Like you. Like me.

Then there were the wildfires in California—entire neighborhoods reduced to ash in moments. I saw people’s homes, memories, and belongings erased in a single day. Lives upended, not because of poor choices or bad luck, but because fire is indifferent. It burns everything in its path.

And then the plane crashes. People boarding flights for vacations or to return home—not knowing it would be their final journey. Lives ending in seconds. No warnings. No goodbyes.

These events shook me. They still do. I think about the hostages almost every day. But alongside the grief, something else quietly stirred in me: a new awareness. A quiet shift I never expected.

By witnessing how fast “normal life” can vanish, I began to treasure my own normalcy in a way I never had before. The slow, uneventful days I once overlooked suddenly felt rare and precious. Because now I understand: my life—simple, safe, and ordinary—could be disrupted at any moment. And that makes the quietness, the safety, the routine, something to hold dear. Something to cherish deeply.

Tragedy Doesn’t Only Break — It Can Awaken Gratitude

The grief that comes from witnessing tragedy cracks you open. It shakes the ground beneath everything you once thought was solid and permanent. When you see life fall apart for others—ordinary people just like you, who never saw it coming—you realize how fragile everything truly is.

I’ve practiced gratitude for years, both in formal ways and in quiet, everyday moments. But witnessing these tragedies—the pandemic, the wildfires, the kidnappings, the sudden plane crashes—taught me something no gratitude practice ever could: that life can vanish without warning. That everything you love can be taken in an instant. And because of that, I must cherish what I have while I have it.

My gratitude changed. It became sharper. Fiercer. More alive in every small thing I did, saw, or touched.

Because now I understand:
Losing everything is not impossible.
Being taken captive is not impossible.
Watching your home burn to the ground is not impossible.
Boarding a flight and never arriving isn’t impossible.

These aren’t distant fears. These are real possibilities. They’ve happened to people just like me. And that means every ordinary, uneventful day I get to live is a miracle. A quiet room. A warm coffee. A call with my mom. The safety I feel sitting in my cozy apartment.

These simple moments—the ones I used to rush past, assuming they were guaranteed—are now where joy lives. Because I finally see them for what they truly are: blessings. Gifts. Each “normal” day is a small miracle. I no longer take them for granted. I am lucky for every normal day.

These tragedies broke things. They broke families. They broke parts of me. But as Rumi says, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

I still grieve every one of these losses. But I am more awake because of them. More grateful. More alive.

My Life Doesn’t Need to Be Perfect to Be a Gift

For so long, I thought I needed more to be happy. More clarity about the future. More success to feel accomplished. More certainty. More validation. More friends. More romance. Like so many of us, I believed happiness lived just beyond the next achievement—the next milestone or the next “right” moment.

But now? My joy comes from the smallest, quietest things.

That doesn’t mean I don’t still want things. Of course I do. It just means my happiness doesn’t have to wait. I can feel joy now, while still hoping, striving, and growing.

I enjoy slow, quiet mornings. I take walks. I read in coffee shops. I stare out the window and watch the light shift across the sky. And in these moments—these completely ordinary, uneventful moments—I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Why?

Because I am not in a tunnel, held hostage, cut off from sunlight, freedom, and sky.
Because my home is standing—safe, warm, familiar.
Because my family is near and well.
Because my country is not burning or under sudden attack.

Because I am safe. I am fed. I am sheltered. I am free. And so are the people I love.

These are not small things. They are everything.

The comforts I used to overlook—the safety of my own bed, the quiet peace of a morning, the simple freedom to walk outside without fear—are now treasures. They are proof that I get to wake up in a life that may not be perfect, but is whole.

My life may not be flawless. But it is peaceful and it is mine. And that is the greatest gift of all.

Feeling Sadness Without Becoming It

When we witness devastation—whether on the news or in the world around us—it’s natural to feel sorrow. To grieve. To cry. To ache for people whose lives have been shattered. That sorrow is part of being human. It means your heart is still soft and open. It means you care. And that is beautiful.

But we can care deeply without becoming the sorrow. We don’t have to turn into bitterness or despair. We don’t have to let the weight of tragedy harden us, or close us off to joy. In fact, sadness can do the opposite—it can awaken us. It can deepen us. It can make our joy richer, fuller, more grounded in the fragile truth of being alive.

This isn’t about ignoring what’s broken. It’s about feeling the sadness fully, while also letting it remind us how much beauty still exists. How much we still have. How incredibly lucky we are to have it.

Emotions are meant to be felt. Fully. Honestly. But they are not meant to define us. We get to choose how they shape us.

We can grieve, and also laugh.
We can feel the heaviness of the world, and also dance in our kitchens.
We can cry for strangers far away, and also cherish the miracle of our own peaceful, ordinary day.

This is the balance of being alive: holding both sorrow and joy, without letting either one swallow the other. This is emotional resilience—not avoiding the darkness, but making room for light anyway.

The Takeaway — Live the Life You Have

If you’re safe right now... if you have your health, food, clean water, and someone who loves you—even just one person—then you are already unimaginably lucky.

That doesn’t mean you can’t feel annoyed sometimes, or wish for more, or long for change. You’re human. It just means: notice the blessings, too.

Let that knowing—that you are deeply blessed—be the quiet backdrop to your life. Let it shape how you move through your days. Let it remind you that peace is not the default setting of the world—it’s a gift. A sacred, rare gift.

We forget that too easily. We chase excitement, drama, more. And that’s okay. But remember: for people in the middle of tragedy, they would give anything for the “normal” life you have right now. The quiet day. The warm bed. The uneventful evening with people you love, or in healthy solitude with yourself.

Don’t wait for loss to wake you up to this truth. Let the heartbreak you’ve seen—even from afar—wake you now.

Cherish the life you already have. Live fully in the small, good moments. Practice gratitude for the blessings you carry, here, today, in this fragile, uncertain world.

It’s totally okay to dream and strive for more. But don’t miss the treasure you’re holding right now.

Because if you are safe, healthy, and loved—even just a little—you are already holding the greatest riches life has to offer.

Applying These Lessons to Your Own Life

So pause for a moment. Right here, right now.

What do you have today that you might be taking for granted? What, if tragedy arrived—heaven forbid—would you miss the most about your life as it is right now?

Is it your morning coffee? A quiet room? Your cozy bed? A roof overhead? The simple comfort of safety, health, or love—even in its smallest form?

What would shift if you saw these not as "givens," but as the rare, extraordinary blessings they truly are?

You don’t have to wait for loss to wake you. Let the tragedies you’ve witnessed—whether near or far—be your reminder. Let them gently teach you to hold your ordinary life as precious. To see your quiet mornings, your safe evenings, your "nothing special" days as the rare and priceless gifts they really are.

Because this life—simple, imperfect, peaceful—is already full of everything that matters most.

As you move through your day today, look for these blessings. Expect them. Notice them. You’ll find them—in every step you take, in every breath you have.