How do we feel, the more often we repeat anything that was once our absolute favourite activity? Let down, disappointed, frustrated - we ask ourselves "Is that it?" We were "enchanted" - held in a trance by it. Apparently, even heroin is never the same after the first exposure.
And yet, despite the law of diminishing returns don't we keep repeating many, many activities? Mindless repetition turns desperate, as we very slowly realize that these activities simply do not have what we're after. How many "trips of a lifetime" must we indulge in every year, for how many years in a row, to finally realize this? And let's not forget about macmansions, luxury cars, accumulating other toys, overeating, workaholism, etc etc.
When we finally really get the fact that life is not a magic carpet ride, there's a strong tendency to become cynical, nihilistic etc. The only thing left for many is a tightly-held opinion that life is miserable. But assuming any identity, be it that of a materialist, addict, or cynic, is more or less at the same limited level of being.
When not trapped within identity, we're free to see clearly. When we are no longer just this lost, unhappy person (ego), any temporary situation can be held in spacious awareness. Like small clouds floating across the spacious sky, small transient noisy egos coexist with, and are held within, spacious silent still awareness.