Ah yes, the ancient dream: getting everything you want. Not some of what you want. Not most of it. Not even a carefully curated, minimalist selection of joy-sparking essentials Marie Kondo-style. No, I’m talking about the whole cart at Costco, every flavor of Ben & Jerry’s, the corner office, the yacht, the partner with perfect hair, and that smug aura of “I’ve hacked life” that radiates off Silicon Valley bros in Patagonia vests.
But here’s the thing: when you peel back the glossy book covers of “10 Steps to Manifest Your Best Self,” what you’ll find is less of a roadmap and more of a slightly caffeinated fever dream.
So, grab a seat, a questionable energy drink, and maybe an emotional support ferret—because we’re going to unpack the fantasy of “getting everything you want,” why it’s a setup, and how society keeps selling it like it’s the last ShamWow on earth.
Chapter 1: The Gospel of “Want More”
Let’s be honest: wanting is the fuel of modern civilization. Advertising agencies don’t want you satisfied. They want you twitchy at 3 a.m. scrolling through TikTok shop wondering if you need a glow-in-the-dark air fryer.
Back in the day, people “wanted” things like:
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Shelter from saber-toothed tigers.
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A mate who wouldn’t leave them for the neighboring cave clan.
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Food that wasn’t poisonous berries.
Now? We want 4K TVs in bathrooms. We want “quiet luxury” cardigans that scream, “I’m better than you, but in cashmere.” We want artisanal oat milk frothed by a barista with ironic tattoos.
And the self-help gurus know it. Their pitch is simple: if you want it, you deserve it. The universe owes you. Just Venmo them $997 for their course, and soon you’ll be on a beach in Bali, pretending your life coach isn’t secretly Airbnb’ing the villa to cover their own debts.
Chapter 2: Manifestation—A Cosmic Customer Service Request
Ah, manifestation. The spiritual Amazon Prime.
The theory goes: if you imagine hard enough, if you vibrate on the right frequency, the universe will send you your dream life. Like you’re dialing up cosmic DoorDash.
Want a Lamborghini? Just cut out a picture, tape it to your fridge, and wait. Want six-pack abs? Forget sit-ups—just “visualize” your core tightening while you eat nachos. Want a promotion? Don’t improve your skills—simply meditate on being your boss’s boss until HR “accidentally” reassigns their paycheck to you.
The dirty secret, of course, is that the universe is like Comcast: it puts you on hold, transfers you six times, and eventually sends you something you didn’t order. You asked for “romance”? The universe ships you an emotionally unavailable situationship who texts “u up?” at 2 a.m. You wanted wealth? Congrats—you now have three MLM friends trying to sell you essential oils.
Chapter 3: The Productivity Industrial Complex
If manifestation doesn’t hook you, capitalism has a Plan B: grind until you collapse.
You’ve seen it: influencers waking up at 4:00 a.m. to meditate, journal, cold plunge, train for ultramarathons, build seven-figure empires, and somehow still find time to post “Just vibin’ ✌️” selfies.
The productivity cult says: you can have everything you want, but only if you sacrifice sleep, joy, friendships, and occasionally your soul. Want to be rich, shredded, enlightened, and married to a partner who looks like a Greek statue? Sure. But you’ll also need to treat every Tuesday like Navy SEAL Hell Week.
It’s a scam, really. They dangle “everything you want” like a carrot, but the stick is a 70-hour workweek, an Excel spreadsheet of “micro-goals,” and a creeping suspicion that you’ll die surrounded by color-coded planners, wondering if you checked the box labeled “be happy.”
Chapter 4: Retail Therapy—Buying Happiness, One Return Policy at a Time
Maybe you’ve given up on manifestation and hustle culture. Enter stage left: consumerism.
“Get everything you want” is basically the motto of every mall in America. Don’t like your life? Swap it out with Prime shipping. Sad? There’s a gadget for that. Lonely? Meet your new $1,499 AI companion with customizable hair color.
Sure, it’s temporary. That new couch you ordered at 2 a.m. will feel revolutionary for, oh, two weeks. Then you’ll notice it stains easily, sits awkwardly in your oddly shaped living room, and doesn’t actually hug you when you cry.
But the cycle is addictive: want, buy, regret, repeat. Retail therapy is the closest most of us get to “getting everything we want.” At least until the credit card bill arrives and you suddenly manifest a migraine.
Chapter 5: Social Media and the Illusion of “Having It All”
Instagram is the Louvre of curated desires.
Scroll for five minutes and you’ll be convinced that everyone except you is:
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Drinking mimosas on yachts.
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Raising photogenic toddlers in minimalist houses.
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Running side hustles that print money.
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Aging backward like Benjamin Button.
What you don’t see:
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The yacht is rented by the hour.
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The toddler just threw quinoa at the wall.
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The side hustle nets $23 a month.
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Botox is doing the Benjamin Button thing.
Social media thrives on the myth that you can get everything you want, because it tricks you into thinking other people already have. The truth? They’re just better at hiding their Amazon boxes off-camera.
Chapter 6: The Comedy of Desire
Want to know the real punchline? Even if you got everything you wanted, you wouldn’t be satisfied.
Humans are Olympic-level experts in hedonic adaptation. That’s a fancy way of saying: once we get the thing, we get bored of the thing, and then we want the next thing.
It’s why billionaires still chase more billions. It’s why the guy who buys a Ferrari suddenly wants a private jet. It’s why your neighbor with the fancy grill is already browsing for an outdoor pizza oven.
The truth is, “everything you want” is a moving target. Even if you catch it, it runs off again wearing a different outfit.
Chapter 7: The Cynical Solution
So, how do you actually “get everything you want”? Here’s the ugly truth:
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Lower your standards. No, lower. Keep going. There it is.
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Reframe “everything” as “the bare minimum that keeps you sane.”
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Pretend like you’re above it all while quietly crying into your third iced latte of the day.
Or—wild idea—stop trying to “get everything” and start making peace with the fact that no one does. Not the influencers, not the billionaires, not even Oprah (she still can’t get Stedman to marry her, and if Oprah can’t get everything she wants, neither can you).
Closing Sermon: The Joke’s on Us
Here’s the kicker: “Get everything you want” isn’t just a lie, it’s an exhausting lie. It’s the dangling carrot that keeps us running in circles.
Maybe the smarter play isn’t to chase “everything” at all. Maybe it’s to find a few things worth wanting—and then want them fully, deeply, without needing the whole buffet.
Because here’s the real cosmic joke: you can spend your whole life chasing “everything” and miss the one thing that might have actually mattered.