Years ago, I heard a senior vice president describe his two favorite tests to size up a job candidate — though I’ve never used either one, both have always stayed with me.
The first test was to take the candidate on a company tour. The senior VP would walk at a rapid clip, just to see how well the candidate kept pace. A swift gait signaled inner drive — which is what the senior VP wanted. Candidates who sauntered, or kept their hands in their pockets, lost points in a hurry. (It’s probably the only thing they did in a hurry.)
The second test was more pointed. After the interviewer returned to his office, he would sit down with the candidate, look the person in the eye and ask, “Are you happy?” I understand his point — he didn’t want to hire people who were depressing or depressed. As he said, he was looking for “bright, happy people.”
But the (bright, happy) editor in me would ask a different set of questions. If I were going with the happiness theme, and I wanted to get a glimpse of the candidate’s world, the size of that world, and the candidate’s locus of control, I would ask the following:
- What brings you happiness? (Subtext: Is it something inside of you or outside of you?)
- What sustains you when you’re not happy? (i.e., Do you have a support system in place? How strong is it?)
- How would you distinguish happiness from joy?
That last question. Though it might not fit in an interview, it’s a reminder that while happiness matters, some things matter even more. Think back on your most joyful moments, both on the job and off. Chances are at least some of them required triumphing over difficulties, or simply doing what needed to be done, even when there was no sense of triumph.
Back in the 1990s, when my extended family went through an unexpected loss (as all families eventually do), there was no trace of happiness in that overcrowded church. But there was joy in rising to the occasion, setting aside everything else to be with parents, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, consoling others and being consoled, and knowing when I returned to the office there would be meaningful work and co-workers who cared. They, too, rose to the occasion.
All of this reminds me of a sign on my refrigerator: “The Joy Comes from Doing the Right Thing.” Doing the right thing sometimes hurts. It sometimes costs. But unlike happiness, which can fade and make us flabby, joy only grows stronger. Joy only makes us stronger.









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