Most people seek happiness for themselves. Life would be weird if it was any other way.
Scott Adams, the prolific cartoonist, author and political commentator who died Tuesday at the age of 68, was weird in that way.
He was a chronic, obsessive giver of happiness.
Year after year, 365 days a year, his legions of fans would tune in every morning for “Coffee with Scott Adams,” which included the famous “simultaneous sip.”
For an hour or two, Adams would comment on whatever was happening in the world. He was smart and witty, yes. But for me, what stood out was that despite the ugliness of the news, he was always cheerful.
I know that doesn’t sound very dramatic, but it was everything.
He was cheerful and understated and measured in a medium where those who stand out are usually loud, blustery and outrageous.
There were no sexy titles to announce his episodes, with hyperbole in all caps like “BEST EVER” or “WORST EVER” that you feel compelled to check out.
With Adams, it was always the same title: “Coffee with Scott Adams.”
His fans, and I was one of them, knew very well the Adams formula: show up every day and deliver. He never missed a day. He’d wake up at 4am and prepare his notes, which consisted of news items and his original, offbeat observations.
It didn’t matter whether you agreed with him or not. Just as with friendships, it was his style and personality that mattered. He loved to laugh. Sometimes he’d crack up uncontrollably.
No matter how strongly he felt about an issue—and he had strong opinions—it was never enough to rile him up.
Maybe he knew that if he’d lose his cool, he’d become like everyone else. His fans tuned in for something else—for his positive vibe. In an angry time where everyone seems to be at each other’s throat, we could count on Scott’s vibe.
We needed that vibe every morning, and he knew we did.
There’s plenty of talk in his obituaries about his support for President Trump; how he predicted Trump’s victory in 2015; his expertise in hypnosis and persuasion; his Dilbert comic strip that made fun of office culture and delighted millions; his many books that offered life advice, like the bestseller, “How to Fail at Almost Everything and Still Win Big,” and on and on. He was a man of accomplishment, a man who loved to debunk hoaxes, dissect human nature, and simply loved being useful.
My favorite Adams book was “Reframe Your Brain: The User Interface for Happiness and Success.” When you read it you understand why his show was so beloved: He reframed everything to give life itself a positive vibe.
Indeed with all of his accomplishments, nothing compared to the daily delight of “Coffee with Scott Adams,” which he delivered every morning wherever he was in the world, including on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and, of course, weekends.
He rarely talked about himself. He was fascinated by the world, by people, by science, by his listeners, by the folly of life.
His career took a major hit in 2023 when he was accused of racism after commenting on a Rasmussen poll in which 53% of black respondents agreed with the statement: “It’s OK to be white.” As Joel Pollak writes in JPost, “Adams quipped that it would be good to move away from people who felt that degree of hostility. He immediately found himself ‘canceled’ — his comic strip dropped, his publishing contracts terminated.”
But that didn’t stop Adams. He didn’t get defensive or bitter. True to his principles, he reframed his setback as a challenge and came back stronger and more independent.
Adams wasn’t the sentimental type. He loved his fans and he loved making them happy, but he didn’t need to say it. You felt it.
The more you tuned in to his show, the more you got used to his familiar face and gentle manner, the more you appreciated his casual delivery and back and forth with viewers, the less you wanted the show to end. But when it did, you had the consolation of knowing he’d be right back tomorrow.
In his last week, as his condition grew worse, he kept on showing up every morning for the simultaneous sip. It was obvious from his frail voice that he was dying, but he didn’t stop.
In his last week, as his condition grew worse, he kept on showing up every morning for the simultaneous sip. It was obvious from his frail voice that he was dying, but he didn’t stop. He knew and we knew that any of these shows could have been his last.
From what I hear, on the morning he died, he was getting ready for another show.
A giver of happiness until the end.
