As I write this, I look out my office window at the greenness of spring in Florida—our oak trees have mostly leafed out, my crepe myrtle has the tiniest bronze leaflets clinging to its bare limbs and I know in time it will bear ruffley lavender flowers. A cardinal is visiting the bird feeder, his red feathers bright against the greens and browns of the front yard. I’m listening to acoustic guitar music on Pandora, and I have my window open to smell all that green leafiness and hear the birds’ songs more clearly. Not only do I enjoy looking and listening to the beauty around me, I find that it has a calming and uplifting effect on my mood.

While most people would not argue that beauty is nice, is it something we all need? Best-selling author Piero Ferrucci thinks it is, and explores that topic in his book Beauty and the Soul: The Extraordinary Power of Everyday Beauty to Heal Your Life.

Ferrucci believes that beauty is an essential ingredient in a happy, healthy life. He writes, “Beauty plays a central role in our decision to be here. The more we can perceive beauty in our surroundings, and also inside us, the more we will feel at home and glad to exist. Some perceive beauty in the sound of rain and shape of clouds, in people’s faces and voices, in birdsong and the rustling of leaves. Some see it in modern design or ancient embroidered silk, in a cathedral’s stained glass or an advertising poster, in the flowering of intelligence or in altruism, in musical phrasing or the melodic rhythm of poetry, in the dynamism of a statue or the lightness of a dance. For such people the world is a place of great interest, of continuing amazement. Their relation with life is erotic: They are in love with life.”

Ferrucci also notes that contact with beauty makes us less angry and anxious, and that Swedish studies indicate that those who attended theater, movies, concerts and exhibitions have a greater chance of longevity. One explanation is that beauty stimulates the immune system.

Of course, beauty doesn’t just exist in cultural events and experiences. Beauty is everywhere—we just need to notice it. To improve our ability to seek and find beauty, Ferrucci suggests keeping a diary of what we find beautiful, slowing down and paying more attention to what is all around us (“Hurry usually obliterates all forms of beauty”), and removing the attitudes that hamper beauty (“I don’t deserve it, it’s a waste of time, there are better things to think about…”).  As he notes, “Attention is nourishing. Anything we give our interest to grows and develops. Anything we neglect or ignore atrophies. Attention is like a spotlight on a theater stage. It gives emphasis. The world is what it is, but we provide the accent. We look for beauty, give it our vital interest, create space for it. Then beauty will proliferate for us.”

Beauty lifts up the soul, lightens burdens, gives hope and inspiration—all things we so desperately need in this world. If we seek beauty in our lives, we will add to our happiness.

What do you find beautiful? How can you add beauty to your days?

Photo courtesy Liz West

My parents didn’t live long enough to be confronted with the notion of paying for a bottle of water. They’d be horrified. Pay for water? Who ever heard of such a thing? Well . . . Here’s a good poem by Kim Dower, who lives in Los Angeles, about what we go through to quench our thirst today. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Bottled Water

I go to the corner liquor store

for a bottle of water, middle

of a hectic day, must get out

of the office, stop making decisions,

quit obsessing does my blue skirt clash

with my hot pink flats; should I get

my mother a caregiver or just put her

in a home, and I pull open the glass

refrigerator door, am confronted

by brands—Arrowhead, Glitter Geyser,

Deer Park, spring, summer, winter water,

and clearly the bosses of bottled water:

Real Water and Smart Water—how different

will they taste? If I drink Smart Water

will I raise my IQ but be less authentic?

If I choose Real Water will I no longer

deny the truth, but will I attract confused,

needy people who’ll take advantage

of my realness by dumping their problems

on me, and will I be too stupid to help them

sort through their murky dilemmas?

I take no chances, buy them both,

sparkling smart, purified real, drain both bottles,

look around to see is anyone watching?

I’m now brilliantly hydrated.

As I mentioned in “Hello Sketchbook, My Old Friend,” I’ve been taking Laure Ferlita’s An Imaginary Visit to a Past Vacation class. Not for the first time, I noticed I’m learning more in art class than simply how to sketch—I’m learning lessons that easily expand beyond the art studio. As in art, so in life:

Preparation makes everything easier… Laure encouraged us to do thumbnails (quick sketches in a junk journal to figure out placement of images and lettering).  Before starting a sketch, I made sure I had my palette, full waterbrushes, paper towels and tissues, my color chart, my reference photos, and a scrap piece of watercolor paper if I needed a quick color check. Once I started, I didn’t want to have to stop to hunt something down. This is also a good way to approach new projects and experiences: figure out what resources you need to have before you get started so that you can proceed smoothly.

…but sooner or later, I have to start. I sometimes let myself get stuck in preparation mode, forever putting off action. Facing a blank page in my sketchbook feels remarkably like facing decisions or starting major projects. Once that first mark hits the page—or I take that first action—I usually relax and can continue without too much fuss and bother.

I’m often my harshest critic. I was pretty happy with my sketches in this class, but in previous classes, I have been frankly embarrassed to share my work. I could see only the flaws in it, how it wasn’t what I wanted it to be, and how (I felt) it wasn’t as good as everyone else’s. My fellow classmates always found something good to say, and ways to encourage me not to give up. When I comment on my classmates’ art, I always look for something specific that I like about it, and I can always find it. I should be so generous with myself! I have a feeling my art isn’t the only area where I’m much harder on myself than is necessary.

As always, I had a great time in Laure’s class, and was able to take away more than just the beginnings of a new sketchbook. I still have one more assignment to complete, so excuse me while I get ready, get started, and ease up on myself. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a cat, and I had forgotten some of the added services cats provide over and above being pets. Each cat has his or her own specialties, and here are a few of Prudy’s:

Alarm Clock. My cat alarm clock is set for 6:30 a.m. This is fine for the rare days that I need to get up that early—which, unfortunately for Prudy, are not that often. Many nights I must shut Prudy in my office/her bedroom so that I can get a full night’s sleep. My office is directly next door to our bedroom, so when her snooze alarm goes off at 7:15, I’m sure to hear it.

Declutterer. Some areas of our house now look a little, shall we say, minimalistic. For example, the dining room table, which used to have a lovely silk flower arrangement, is now a bare sheet of wood. Cats love to knock things off any surface they manage to get on, whether or not they are allowed on these surfaces. As Prudy’s ability to jump or climb has increased, so has the spareness of my décor—the sofa table, the aforementioned dining table, my dresser. Practically every horizontal surface in the house has been simplified if not stripped bare.  No, I suppose I didn’t really need that ceramic candle holder. But I’m still sad about the folk art cow she knocked off the kitchen sideboard.

Natural Antidepressant. Prudy is super soft to pet and very purry—she purrs when she eats, she purrs when she plays, she purrs when she’s in the mood for affection. She’ll climb on my lap, lie down, and sometimes go to sleep. She’ll even lie on her back and allow me to play with her paws and stroke her pouffy tail. It’s kind of hard to remain down when faced with all that cuteness.

Personal Trainer. Monday morning (a day I had to get up at 6:30—thank you, Prudy), as I exited the bathroom back into our dark bedroom where my husband still slept, my bare feet met something soft and furry. In an effort not to flatten her, I performed some of the most intricate dance moves I’ve done in a long time.

Artist. I’ve been taking Laure Ferlita’s Imaginary Visit to a Past Vacation class, and the first time I worked on an assignment, Prudy lay down on my open palette. I suspect all future sketches will have a little cat hair accent in them somewhere. A new way to incorporate texture!

I consider myself lucky to live with such an accomplished cat, and look forward to seeing what other services she will bring to our lives. Not a bad return on the minimal adoption fee at the shelter!

What are your pets’ specialties?

“Being present to the way things are is not the same as accepting things as they are in the resigned way of the cow. It doesn’t mean you should drown out your negative feelings or pretend you like what you really can’t stand…It simply means, being present without resistance: being present to what is happening and present to your reactions, no matter how intense.”

—Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander, The Art of Possibility 

I hear:   leaves rustling as they drop from the oak trees; a muted radio and the sound of a nail gun popping from a renovation going on nearby; Scout barking; the roar of a leaf blower; a far-off train whistle; the pool filter clicking on; various birds chirping and singing.

I see: sunlight and shadows making patterns on the ground and the surface of the pool; orchid buds opening, Spanish moss lazily blowing; ripples on the pool from the cycling filter; foliage trembling in the breeze.

I feel: mild, damp air; achy back (I’ve been sitting too long); cool metal of the chair arm.

I smell: Cold coffee in my mug; dirt; green and growing things.

I taste: Coffee and biscotti.

The weather has been perfect for sitting outside this week, and I spent some time reading and writing on the lanai this morning. I’m amazed by all the sensory input even when I’m sitting quietly in my back yard!

What did you hear, see, smell, feel and taste today?

What: International Day of Happiness

When: March 20

Who: 193 member nations of the United Nations

Where: All over the world

Why: Because the happiness and well-being are recognized as universal goals and aspirations in the lives of people all over the world.

How: Up to you! Find or take a picture of something that makes you happy and post it to social media (use #happinessday to be part of the official celebration) or on the “Wall of Happiness.” Learn more about International Day of Happiness here.)

What makes you happy? Share your thoughts in the comments!

I recently celebrated another milestone anniversary: 10 years of having my horse, Tank. I find this as mind blowing as knowing I’ve been married for 26 years and that I have a (nearly) adult child.

When I was looking for a horse of my own, and even when I bought him, I was totally focused on the goal of finding a horse. I wasn’t thinking about all the years we had ahead of us, the time we would share getting to know each other, learning to work together. Just like when I was dating and falling in love, or preparing to become a mother—I didn’t think so much about what would happen once I reached that milestone or achieved that goal. The “after” was a blank space in my mind.

What do we do after we get what we want—after we achieve something we’ve longed for? What happens after we fall in love, lose 20 pounds, have a child, get that coveted job, even buy that horse?

Reality sets in. The goal we once desired with all of our hearts is in our hands, and often we find it’s not all romantic dinners under the stars, buying new clothes in a smaller size, cuddling a sleeping baby, kudos from the boss, or galloping like the wind. There’s manure to shovel, diapers to change, compromises to be made and maintenance of all kinds to be done. In many cases, “after” lasts longer than “before.” How can we make the most of what comes after we reach a milestone or major goal?

If we appreciate what we have, don’t compare it with what others have, and keep learning so we can make it better, what comes after will better than we can even imagine.

What have you discovered about what comes after a big goal or milestone?

Did you know it’s National Reading Month in the United States? For me, every month is reading month. As I’ve mentioned frequently (possibly far too frequently), reading is one of my favorite simple pleasures. And I’ve been doing a lot of it, as usual. I’m determined to get a handle on the number of unread books I own, so I’ve been reading primarily from my own stacks, and trying, with mixed success, to curtail book purchasing. (So far this year I’ve spent only $3.75 on books—not counting books I’ve obtained through Paperback Swap and by using a credit at my local used bookstore.)

But I digress. The point (and I do have one) is that I’ve been reading from my own stacks while simultaneously trying not to rebuild them. I’ve read 11 books out of my 36-book goal so far. I thought I’d share a few bits and pieces from this year’s reads.

The first book I read this year, What Alice Forgot, was so delightful that I kept it in my library instead of passing it on. Alice Love thinks she’s 29 and pregnant with her first child when she regains consciousness after a fall at the gym. Turns out, she’s actually 39, the mother of three and about to be divorced. What happened during that missing 10 years? This book was fun to read, and also thought provoking: Is your life what you expected it to be 10 years ago?  

Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston, was my first classic of the year. I had never read anything by this writer, and wasn’t sure what to expect. I enjoyed this book very much. Set in Florida, it follows Janie Crawford’s search for real love and her true self, and isn’t that what we’re all looking for? A tiny teaser:

“She was a rut in the road. Plenty of life beneath the surface but it was kept beaten down by the wheels….mostly she lived between her hat and her heels, with her emotional disturbances like shade patterns in the woods—come and gone with the sun.”

Interesting fact: Hurston wrote Their Eyes Were Watching God in only seven weeks!

Take the Cannoli, a book of essays by Sarah Vowell, was an impulse buy at my library’s book store. I’d read one other book by Vowell, who is also a contributor to radio’s “This American Life,” and I love her quirky writing voice. One of my favorite passages from Cannoli:

“Heaven, such as it is, is right here on earth. Behold: my revelation: I stand at the door in the morning, and lo, there is a newspaper, in sight like unto an emerald. And holy, holy is the coffee, which was, and is to come. And hark, I hear the voice of an angel round about the radio, saying, ‘Since my baby left me I found a new place to dwell.’ And lo, after this I beheld a great multitude, which no man could number, of shoes….”

(And speaking of “voice,” I just learned that Vowell was the voice of Violet in one of my favorite animated movies, The Incredibles.)

Hyperbole and a Half, by Allie Brosh, was a library book, I admit, but I couldn’t resist it. Brosh can make me laugh till I cry. The book contains original material, but some of it can be found on her blog. Check out these posts, also found in the book, for a taste of Brosh’s humor: “Dogs Don’t Understand the Basic Concept of Moving” or “The Party”.

“If your goal is to build a remarkable life, then busyness and exhaustion should be your enemy. If you’re chronically stressed and up late working, you’re doing something wrong….You’ve built a life around hard to do work, not hard work.

“The solution suggested by [research] is as simple as it is startling: Do less. But do what you do with complete and hard focus. Then when you’re done be done, and go enjoy the rest of the day.”

—Cal Newport

As established research suggests, most of us realize we receive more lasting happiness from experiencing something than from buying something (unless we’re talking about, say, books or art supplies…or is that just me?).  But what types of experiences provide the most happiness?

I recently read about a study by some marketing professors examining this very question. Turns out, it depends in part on how old we are. The study, “Happiness from Ordinary and Extraordinary Experiences,” broke experiences into two categories: extraordinary (uncommon and infrequent), like having a child or taking a special vacation, and ordinary (common and frequent), like watching a sunset or savoring a meal. They also examined the role of age in the amount of happiness these activities give us.

The study found that, “Although happiness from extraordinary experiences does not change with age, ordinary experiences elicit greater happiness as people get older and their time remaining becomes limited.” (You can read the study here.) 

I don’t think of my time remaining being “limited” (though, of course, everyone’s is), but I already embrace the idea that I don’t have to do something extraordinary to feel happier. Simple, ordinary, pastimes do indeed provide me with great pleasure. This is a good thing, because extraordinary experiences are not always available to me—they are “uncommon and infrequent” by definition. However, in the meantime, I don’t have to wait—ordinary happiness is all around me.

I’m not saying I don’t still want those extraordinary experiences—I certainly wouldn’t turn down a trip to London, for example. I’m lucky enough to have done some traveling, to have owned a business, to get married and to have a child, experiences that qualify as extraordinary, and I’m sure that plays a part in my overall feeling of contentment in my life. But until that next trip or other “big” experience comes along, I’ll be happy sitting on my lanai sipping tea, taking a walk, sketching, laughing with my friends and generally enjoying the simple pleasures and everyday adventures of life.

What simple pleasures make you happy? And what extraordinary experience would you most like to have?

When you were a kid, didn’t you think being an adult was going to be awesome? You’d be free—no one would tell you what to do, you could play all day if you wanted to, eat what you wanted, go to bed (and get up) when you wanted to. You’d fill your days with fun!

I don’t know about you, but except for dimly-remembered college breaks, adulthood hasn’t followed that pattern for me! I’ve gone from college to working full time, to raising a child while working part time, all the while taking charge of an apartment or house, etc. Even now, with my child in college and with no job to report to, I spend most of my time doing things to keep my life running: shopping, cooking, cleaning, oil changes, doctor’s appointments, vet appointments, doing research and writing, exercising (because I want to be healthy, not because I love it), paying bills… When, exactly, is all that adult fun going to start?

I enjoy (to some extent) and value almost everything I do, but I do few things “just for fun.” I also manage to turn things that should be just for fun into learning opportunities instead of just play. Take reading, for example. I can’t just read for fun. I have to take part in reading challenges. Though I am careful to choose only challenges that appeal to me and don’t seem too difficult to complete, somehow labeling it a “challenge” adds an element of pressure to reading.

What about spending time with my horse? When I ride, I’m not just having fun. I’m working to become a better rider or teaching him something, even when I’m not taking a lesson.

I’m not saying learning opportunities, challenging myself, and so on is bad. On the contrary, I think using things I like doing to learn and grow is a great idea. I also think that I take it to extremes.

I really want to have more plain, old fun and to live more lightheartedly, so here are a few things I’m doing right now to make that happen:

Adjusting my attitude. I’m stepping back from the “challenge” aspect of my reading challenges and simply choosing the book I most want to read right now.  With Tank, I’m lightening up my expectations of our time together, and at least once a week just hanging out with him with no agenda.

Increasing the fun factor in areas that aren’t primarily fun—like cleaning the house. I listen to music on my iPod or I turn on a favorite TV show and clean while watching, or during commercials. (I’ve whipped my kitchen into shape in the past two weeks watching HGTV.) I open Pandora while working in my office (I’m typing to Bruno Mars’ “When I Was Your Man” right now.) I set a timer for 15 minutes and promise to quit work when it goes off and do something just for fun, like play with Prudy or read (for fun!).

Doing something just for the fun of it. No other reason. Just because I want to. Not because I’ll learn something or help someone, just for fun. Something that just occurs to me—like going to a food truck rally or spending the entire day in my pajamas.

Managing “false fun.” Who am I kidding? I have plenty of free time to do fun things—it’s just that I spend more of it than I’d like to in front of a screen, whether surfing the internet or watching TV. I enjoy both of those activities, and I don’t want to cut them out completely. So I have to manage them so I don’t play on the computer or watch TV when I have the mental and physical energy to do more worthwhile things, and so that they don’t eat up more time than they deserve.

It seems a bit ridiculous to have to put this much thought into fun—but I don’t think I’m alone in being hyper responsible sometimes, in feeling guilty if I’m not doing something “productive” all the time. I’m productive enough. And so are you. So let’s have some fun!

The persons we are when we are young are probably buried somewhere within us when we’ve grown old. Denise Low, who was the Kansas poet laureate, takes a look at a younger version of herself in this telling poem. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Two Gates

I look through glass and see a young woman

of twenty, washing dishes, and the window

turns into a painting. She is myself thirty years ago.

She holds the same blue bowls and brass teapot

I still own. I see her outline against lamplight;

she knows only her side of the pane. The porch

where I stand is empty. Sunlight fades. I hear

water run in the sink as she lowers her head,

blind to the future. She does not imagine I exist.

I step forward for a better look and she dissolves

into lumber and paint. A gate I passed through

to the next life loses shape. Once more I stand

squared into the present, among maple trees

and scissor-tailed birds, in a garden, almost

a mother to that faint, distant woman.

*with apologies to Simon and Garfunkel

I’m signed up to take another one of Laure Ferlita’s classes and looking forward to breaking in a new sketchbook! I just completed filling the pages of a sketchbook for the first time—though, truthfully, a few of the pages aren’t done. I can’t decide whether to go back and finish them, or just leave them as is. Whatever I decide, I’m not waiting to start a new sketchbook. I’ve got this one, and I’m playing with a color chart to get to know the paper. I think I’ll use photos from our New England anniversary trip for the class.

Everyday adventure, here I come.

Have you had any adventures lately?

With Monday’s post in mind, here’s a quote on art that can be applied to life, too (just replace the word “art” with the word “life”):

“Sometimes, there is no such thing as a tutorial for the art we see. There is investigation. There is practice. There is appreciation. There is study. There is emulation. There is more study. There is more practice. There is searching for what's inside us. And if we are lucky, there is art. There is no easy tutorial for a process that blends all of that which could take the course of several years.

“There is no true short cut to art.”

—Jenny Doh, Crescendoh.com

So many times our lives feel like they’ve been reduced to a to-do list we’re forever trying to finish. We tear through our weeks, striving to find a balance between doing and being, giving to others and taking care of ourselves. Even a happy life can be reduced to a black-and-white list of things accomplished. What if we think of life in a different way? What if we think about our days as blank canvases, waiting for us to paint them? What if we turn our lives into an art form, picturing each of our activities as a color?

Most of us spend a good deal of time working for the benefit of others, or to support ourselves financially. Even if we don’t especially enjoy our jobs, there is beauty in them, in the benefits they bring to us and others. We can think of them as the base color of our canvases, and picture those hours painted a favorite color. Our free time gives us a chance to add accent colors to our base color.

Just as each artist has her own vision for her art, each person will have her own vision for her life’s canvas: some people will want theirs primarily filled with one color, and others will want a canvas splashed with multiple colors. Some will gleefully spatter their canvases with bright tones, while others will choose a more muted, serene palette.  I like variety, so I’m happiest when my paintings have multiple colors. My ideal canvas would have plenty of purple and blue, the colors I associate with reading and writing. I’d also have strokes of red for physical activity, green for working for my family, even some yellow for doing nothing. (I’m not sure how a literal painting like this would look, but my imaginary painting looks great!)

At the end of each day, when we look at our finished canvases, what do we notice? Is our free time primarily filled with things we value? Have we let too much work take over? Or too much mindless entertainment? What about self-care, or acts of kindness? Do they appear? What does a week of canvases look like? A month? A year?

We are the artists of our own lives—why don’t we paint some masterpieces? (For more parallels between art and life, see “Artful Living: Applying the Five Es”.)

If your day was a painting, what colors would you fill your canvas with, and what would they represent?

Is everyone in the mood for some link love?  Here are some of my latest internet discoveries…hope you enjoy!

I sort of do this on Wednesdays, but Bookswept is almost entirely made up of photos paired with quotes from books for a simple-yet-thought-provoking blog. 

I would much rather read a print magazine, but this digital one looks divine. Jennifer Carroll’s blog is also delightful.  

I’m a little tardy, but here are some awesome “start the new year right” quotes. It’s never too late to make a new start!

This article explains why we should pay more attention to our “tiny, joyful moments.” 

If you’ve ever spent one moment worrying about your weight, read this. Or watch this video, which is also linked in the post. Powerful.

What has captured your interest lately?

One of the founders of modernist poetry, Ezra Pound, advised poets and artists to “make it new.” I’ve never before seen a poem about helping a tree shake the snow from itself, and I like this one by Thomas Reiter, who lives in New Jersey. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Releasing a Tree

Softly pummeled overnight, the lower

limbs of our Norway spruce

flexed and the deepening snow held them.

Windless sunlight now, so I go out

wearing hip waders and carrying

not a fly rod but a garden hoe. I begin

worrying the snow for the holdfast

of a branch that’s so far down

a wren’s nest floats above it like a buoy.

I work the hoe, not chopping but cradling,

then pull straight up. A current of air

as the needles loft their burden

over my head. Those grace notes

of the snowfall, crystals giving off

copper, green, rose—watching them

I stumble over a branch, go down

and my gloves fill with snow. Ah, I find

my father here: I remember as a child

how flames touched my hand the time

I added wood to the stove in our ice-fishing

shanty, how he plunged that hand

through the hole into the river, teaching me

one kind of burning can ease another.

The branch bobs then tapers into place

and composes itself, looking

unchanged though all summer

it will bring up this day from underfoot.

During the past few weeks as I’ve worked through a bout of depression, I’ve been learning ways to manage and uplift my mood. I’ve discovered that I wake up feeling fairly cheerful, but crash around 2 p.m., so it helps to have something fun planned or someplace happy to go around then. And while I have several “happy places,” for me there’s almost no place happier than the barn where I keep my horse. It’s a few minutes from my house, but it might as well be 100 miles away from all my cares.

Why do I love it so much? Aside from the obvious (my dream horse Tank lives there), it’s quiet and peaceful. There are lots of animals, both domestic and wild, and I have good friends there. The barn also holds great memories of accomplishment and fun times. When I first started lessons there, I knew nothing about the care of horses or how to ride. Little by little, I’ve learned everything from how to properly groom a horse, to how to jump small jumps.

When I’m at the barn, I’m not surrounded by competing things I “should” be doing. I don’t need to choose between working on an essay and making dinner, reading a book or folding laundry. I’m doing both what needs to be done and what I want to do. While I stand in a cloud of dust and hair as I brush Tank, I’m also looking for cuts, swellings, abrasions, bug bites or the start of any skin or hoof issues. I “need” to groom him—and I love doing it (while not for everyone, grooming a horse is one of my favorite simple pleasures). He loves it too, especially since he gets pieces of carrot as I work my way around his body. 

Once I walk through the gate, I don’t hear the voices in my head telling me I’m not good enough—I hear turkeys gobbling, the snort, squeal or blow of a horse, chickens clucking. I don’t smell the trash that needs to be emptied—I smell fresh air, hay and the warm scent of horse. I don’t see all the chores I have left to do, I see pricked ears, a gleaming coat, and the eager expression of an animal waiting for me.

When I’m ready to leave, I’m filthy, often sweaty and fatigued, but my mind is still. If I’ve been mulling over a problem, I often know the next step to take. If I felt a little icky physically, I’ve probably forgotten all about it. Things have settled and shifted, and I’m at peace and, at least for now, happy.

What about you? Where is your “happy place”?

“We insist that we can’t possibly be happy until tomorrow, when things change. But if happiness is possible tomorrow, it is also possible today. If love is possible tomorrow, it is possible today. We can find healing even if nothing changes. To surrender to life ‘as is’ can miraculously transform situations. It is in this surrender that we are able to receive. The universe gives us the tools to fulfill our destinies when we let things be.”

—Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler, Life Lessons: Two Experts on Death and Dying Teach Us About the Mysteries of Life and Living.

I’m sorry I’ve been a bit MIA here lately—ironically, or perhaps not as I’ll explain below—the author of a blog called Catching Happiness has been coping with a bout of depression.

I chose “catching happiness” as a theme for the blog because I’m not a naturally “happy” person. I’m naturally anxious and a little depressive. Since I know my default setting leans toward “sad” I work to look for the bright side, searching for the positive to counteract my natural tendencies, and mostly I’m able to maintain an optimistic outlook and attitude. When the dark side looms, sometimes there’s a triggering event, and sometimes it creeps up on me without my noticing…until I start to feel better, not realizing until then how unhappy I’d been feeling. Fortunately, I’ve never been suicidal, and I’ve never been so depressed that I couldn’t get out of bed. Sometimes, though, like during the past couple of weeks, it’s taken most of my energy to keep up with the basics.

Over the years, I’ve learned that during down times, I need routines and behaviors I can reach for when I begin to slide. The trick is making preparations before the darkness hits, because once it does, it’s too late to come up with ways to cope. To support myself, I focus on three things:

Photo courtesy dimitri_c

It pains an old booklover like me to think of somebody burning a book, but if you’ve gotten one for a quarter and it’s falling apart, well, maybe it’s OK as long as you might be planning to pick up a better copy. Here Ron Koertge, who lives in Pasadena, has some fun with the ashes of love poems. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Burning the Book

The anthology of love poems I bought

for a quarter is brittle, anyway, and comes

apart when I read it.

One at a time, I throw pages on the fire

and watch smoke make its way up

and out.

I’m almost to the index when I hear

a murmuring in the street. My neighbors

are watching it snow.

I put on my blue jacket and join them.

The children stand with their mouths

open.

I can see nouns—longing, rapture, bliss—

land on every tongue, then disappear. 

The Christmas tree was just the beginning. Let me share a few more of Prudy’s recent exploits. There are only a few surfaces left that are safe from her depridations—and that will probably change as she gets older: the top of refrigerator (where we have to keep Scout’s food when she’s not actually eating it), the top of the armoire in my office (where I put fresh flowers if I have them) and so far, our dresser in the bedroom. (I’m pretty sure she could jump up on it—she just hasn’t seen any need to do so yet.)  Everywhere she goes, havoc! She loves to lie on my desk while I’m working, and her favorite way to get there is to run into the office, jump onto my rocking chair and spring onto the desk. With the following results:

She also decides it’s time to play around 11 p.m. and frequently has to be locked into the office for the night. She doesn’t seem to mind this—I hear her rolling her ball around in there, and she doesn’t start crying to get out until morning. However, she takes that time to explore the shelves and knock things over. I’ve found many of the little odds and ends I keep on my desk on the floor in front of it when I let her out in the morning. I use a docking station with my laptop so I have a better keyboard and monitor, and Prudy likes to jump on the shelf below my desk that holds my laptop, shutting the lid and turning it off, usually when I’m right in the middle of typing a sentence.

So far she’s not an especially naughty girl (knock on wood) and I know it’s only a matter of time before she’s a full-grown cat whose main activity is sleeping. I’m enjoying her loving nature, playfulness and curiosity while trying to stay one step ahead of her possible destructiveness (the silk flower arrangement from the dining room table now lives on top of the china cabinet, for example). For once, I’m not wishing away this stage, but appreciating it, pausing many times a day to play with her or pet her. (And I save my documents frequently!)

Often we (I) look forward too much, neglecting the present for the future, believing that it will somehow be better than right now. I look back at my life and see how fast it’s going, and how much time I wasted wishing I would grow up, wishing I had a husband and family, wishing my child would grow up…you see the pattern. I’m learning that appreciating the right now not only improves my experience of the present, but builds a store of warm memories, and hopefully, a happy future.

How do you appreciate the present?

Here’s a lovely poem about snow falling on San Antonio by Mo H. Saidi, an obstetrician and writer who, in addition to his medical training, has a Master’s degree in English and Literature from Harvard. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

The Night of the Snowfall

Snow falls gently in the Hill Country

covering the meadows and the valleys.

The sluggish streaks of smoke climb quietly

from the roofs but fail to reach the lazy clouds.

On Alamo Plaza in the heart of the night

and under the flood of lights, the flakes float

like frozen moths and glow like fireflies.

They drop on the blades of dormant grass.

They alight on the cobblestones and live awhile

in silence, they dissolve before dawn.

The wet limestone walls of the mission

glow proudly after the night of snowfall.

Lately I’ve been living with someone who has nothing good to say about me, who takes every opportunity to put me down and tell me I’m not good enough. In fact, she’s kind of a witch.

She’s my inner critic.

When I put pen to paper, she’s right there with “helpful” comments about how boring and bland my words are, and her most cutting criticism is that I have nothing to say. This criticism becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy and suddenly I don’t have anything to say. No words come. I sit staring at my blank page, bereft of ideas, frustrated that my writing time is slipping away with nothing to show for itself.

My inner critic has nothing constructive to say. She (my inner critic is a she) only tries to shut me down. Nothing I do is ever good enough, and I am not even close to being “good enough.” If she has good intentions, she’s going about it all wrong.

You don’t have to be a writer, artist or “creative” person to suffer from an inner critic. You may have one who trashes your appearance, athletic ability, intelligence, childrearing, housekeeping, or level of hospitality. When an area of life is important to you, you may find you have a small—or large—inner voice criticizing you. Your inner critic may try to keep you from doing what you want, or it may lash out when you’ve been human and made an error.

Frankly, I’m tired of my inner critic’s B.S. I don’t need any inner voices tearing me down. If she has nothing helpful to say, she can just shut up. I don’t let real people talk to me like that—why do I let her get away with it? Here are four things I’m doing to shut up my inner critic:

I hope you don’t have such a vicious voice living inside your head, but if you do, try one or more of the above techniques to silence her. You don’t have to put up with that!

Do you have an inner critic? How do you silence him or her?

As you might expect, I have an interest in positive psychology, the relatively new branch of psychology that focuses not on treating mental illness, but on building mental health and increasing happiness.  Positive psychology is not just “happiology”—about feeling good all the time. It strives to understand the elements of a truly satisfying life.

In Flourish: A Visionary New Understanding of Happiness and Well-being, Martin  Seligman, a psychologist and one of the pioneers in the field of positive psychology, builds on (and explains the weaknesses of) his work on “authentic happiness theory,” refining it into what he calls well-being theory. Seligman writes, “I used to think that the topic of positive psychology was happiness, that the gold standard for measuring happiness was life satisfaction, and that the goal of positive psychology was to increase life satisfaction. I now think that the topic of positive psychology is well-being, that the gold standard for measuring well-being is flourishing, and that the goal of positive psychology is to increase flourishing.” 

In Flourish, Seligman adds two more elements (Relationships and Achievement) to the three elements already named in authentic happiness theory (remember them by using the mnemonic PERMA):

Each of these elements contributes to well-being without defining it.  Some are measured subjectively and others are measured objectively. Seligman added these additional dimensions because he feels that “life satisfaction holds too privileged a place in the measure of happiness” because “how much life satisfaction people report is itself determined by how good we feel at the very moment we are asked the question.” Many people who lack a natural cheerfulness may have more engagement and meaning in their lives than those who are more outwardly “happy.”

Flourish is an interesting book, and though it’s more theory than practical application, it does contain some interactive exercises (I mentioned one of them here). The book also contains a bit of history of positive psychology and Seligman’s career, as well as a defense of positive psychology against critics.

What I took from the book was the idea that well-being was a broader, richer concept than simple “happiness,” and that you can have well-being without constantly feeling cheerful or “happy.” I don’t believe it’s possible—or even desirable—to feel happy all the time. I do, however, feel that pursing the elements of PERMA will help you build a more deeply satisfying—and, yes, happier—life.

“What you think ‘the real world’ is is composed directly of the stuff you see and read. If you choose to read awful things, you’re going to think you live in an awful world.”

—Leonie Dawson

“Everything natural—every flower, tree, and animal—has important lessons to teach us if we would only stop, look, and listen.”—Eckhart Tolle

I’ve had various pets nearly all my life. Aside from their cuteness and cuddleability, pets can be expert teachers of life lessons (and if you doubt me, check out the delightful book Guardians of Being). Currently, I have one elderly dog, a “teenage” kitten, and a middle-aged horse. They’ve taught me many, many things (including don’t wear any clothes to the barn you’re not prepared to ruin, and no, the kitchen counter is not tall enough to keep food away from either the kitten OR the dog…). 

Here are a few of my favorite life lessons from my pets:

From Prudy:

There is a time for play and a time for cuddling. Know your priorities and stick to them.

The world is to be explored.

Like everyone until they prove unlikable.

Assume everyone likes you until proven otherwise.

From Scout:

Do everything joyfully: get up in the morning, go to bed at night, eat, announce your presence to the world.

Sleep when you’re tired, even if something interesting is going on elsewhere.

Don’t put up with bull$&@, but only do as much as you have to to get it to stop—don’t overreact.

From Tank:

You can make huge progress by taking many small steps.

Relationship is more important—and ultimately more satisfying—than tricks or blind obedience.

Hold out for your favorite treats. Spit out the ones you don’t like. Don’t waste time (or calories) on them.

Don’t let the turkeys get you down. 

Animals live in the moment. They don’t worry about what might happen tomorrow, or what the dog next door has, or what the horses in the next paddock might be saying behind their backs. Seems like some pretty valuable wisdom to me.

Have you learned any life lessons from an unusual source?