I’ve drifted in and out of the meritocracy trap over the years, but mostly, I’ve stayed stuck in its sticky web. I quickly learned the value of good grades and securing better jobs. Once I landed a good job and the race to secure it was over, I descended into despair at the thought of doing it for the next forty years. Fast-forward a decade, and financial independence allowed me to sidestep the meritocracy trap. However, this too felt like another shiny merit badge. When I reached that point, I looked around and realized, like a bus rider stepping off at the wrong stop: damn it—this isn’t it.

Who would have thought you couldn't find happiness by looking for it?

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My wife and I stood at the edge of the world—or at least what felt like it—squinting through the murk and sea spray to snap photos of a decommissioned lighthouse. Less like some beacon of hope, its white tower loomed like a ghost, haunting the craggy cliffs of coastal Victoria and my vacation prospects. We’d arrived at the sleepy Victorian coastal town of Port Fairy expecting sunshine, a pleasant breeze—and if not asking too much—maybe a kangaroo or two bounding in silhouette against the sunset. Instead, a spectrum of misery lay before us: wind that could strip the paint from a car and rain in erratic, bipolar bursts.

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Australians, it seems, are utterly smitten with coffee. The beverage of choice appears to be the flat white, a silky yet buttoned-down cousin to the latte or cappuccino. We landed in Sydney at dawn, dragging two hefty bags from baggage claim. Our first order of business was to snag a flat white before leaving the terminal. Ever the minimalist, I settled for an espresso, watching the crowd in a bleary-eyed daze, squinting at the sun as if it were a new concept. My wife, meanwhile, sat busy photographing her artfully swirled toothpick masterpiece. Soon enough, we embraced the day and ventured out into the land of sculpted asses in Bondi Beach.

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