High on Happiness

Archive for April, 2010

I was cruising around my hard drive today, taking a peek at the considerable collection of articles and ebooks I’ve acquired over the past few years.  (Got some yourself?  Chances are good that if you look, you’ll find some treasures!)  After glancing through the tables of contents and random selections in several of  them, I ran across one from motivational expert Tony Robbins called “Notes to a Friend.”

He was talking about how making real decisions (as opposed to mere wishes) is the only way to make change in our lives.  Things you want to create, things you want to change about yourself, all start with deciding to commit to them.  You draw a line in the cement, he says, cross it, and never look back.  Then you take massive action until you what you want is a reality in your life.

Some actions will move you ahead; and some will leave you spinning your wheels.  The key is to evaluate your actions and then to be open to new approaches, to be flexible about what you can do to fulfill the vision you have committed to realize in your life.  (Think of Edison’s many hundreds of attempts to make an electric light bulb.)

I thought about Tony’s advice and realized that we’re seldom reminded what a beautiful trait flexibility is when you apply it to an end you want to accomplish.  While you keep your eye squarely on your vision, believing in its inevitability with all your heart, you keep your hope and energy alive and flowing through the flexibility of your means to achieve it.

Flexibility means you’re able to stretch yourself, to reach further, that you’re pliant and elastic.  It lets you feel the strength of your determination and keeps your mind open to new possibilities.

Flexibility keeps you from getting stuck, from giving up; it prompts you to remember that there’s always a way, always a fresh idea.  It generates creativity and innovation.

Flexibility keeps your momentum going, your drive in gear.  It teaches you to step back and look at things from new angles.  It keeps you asking “What if?” and expands your imagination.

It’s a great tool to keep in your happiness bag.  Try it out on something today—a new approach, a fresh idea.  Stretch yourself.  See what happens.

I watched a curly haired little boy, his hand enveloped in his father’s, cross the street.  Despite the rush of fellow pedestrians and the din of the traffic, he was completely unafraid.  “How beautiful,” I thought, “is the trust of a child!”  It’s so complete and unquestioning.

I thought about that little picture several times throughout the day, and it reminded me of the way I feel when I’m fully in tune with my happiness.  Regardless of how chaotic the problems of the world or how difficult the current circumstances of my life may be, when I allow myself to relax into the calm of authentic happiness, I sense that somehow I am in good hands, and my ultimate well-being is assured.

Like the little boy, I simply accept that mine is a small and limited perspective.  I thrust my hand into the invisible one that knows the bigger picture, that sees the whole grand scheme, and I feel assured that I will be brought safely through whatever rush and din presses around me.

The happiness that comes from trusting in life lets me perceive it as an adventure instead of as a threat, to meet it with daring instead of cowering from its unknowns in fear.  It lets me begin my day with eagerness for whatever it may bring, knowing that even its tests will enlarge me.  It keeps me open to the joy of discovery instead of treading only those worn paths that I know are secure.

Trusting in life allows happiness to prevail because it lets you walk with confidence.  It keeps you from setting up artificial barriers between you and the joy that’s inherent in living fully.  It comes from a kind of humility, a willingness to acknowledge that Something far larger and wiser than you is guiding your path, as surely as it guides the paths of the stars in the heavens, and growing you to your fullness as surely as it brings forth flowers where once there was only snow-covered ground.

Happiness isn’t all bluebirds and rainbows, you know.  It’s not a Pollyanna, pie-in-the-sky attitude, devoid of a realistic view of life.  It’s more like a ribbon that wends its way through layers and layers of being.

Happiness is believing that, despite the circumstances in which we happen to find ourselves, somehow everything is working together for good, and that if we keep on keeping on, we’ll see that good and feel it in the depths of our bones.

Once happiness embeds itself in us, it acts like a kind of gyroscope, helping us keep our bearings even when we’re sailing storm-tossed waters.  It helps us keep our challenges in perspective, to see setbacks as temporary, to remember our strengths and capabilities.  Happiness is empowering.

Happy people tend to be optimists.  That’s not to say they’re blind to problems.  But they carry within them a measure of hope, a suspicion that seeds of progress and opportunity lie hidden in every adversity.  And that suspicion keeps them on the look-out for slivers of light in the darkness.

Happiness helps us keep our minds open for the glimmerings of fresh ideas.  It fosters our creativity.

It keeps us from accepting defeat, and encourages us to rise again when situations temporarily knock us down.  It helps us claim our resilience.

When happiness becomes your accustomed orientation toward life, you look for reasons to let it express itself.  You seek opportunities to appreciate, to be grateful, to be kind, to love.

Such is the depth of happiness, and the treasure of it.  Practice happiness.  It will touch your days with joy, and light your seasons of darkness.

The day was a soft one, its light diffuse, its temperature mild.  Great blankets of clouds hovered just above the treetops at the parking lot’s edge.  They stretched from horizon to horizon and muted the world’s colors and sounds.  And then a gentle rain began to fall.

It was the kind of day some would call dreary.  It made you want to nestle somewhere, to curl in the curve of a couch with a good movie or book, or to find a quiet restaurant where you could sit with an old friend sipping tea over short observations and long silences.  It made you want to squeeze from it the comfort of the familiar.  For me, it took on the quality of a poem.

I cracked my office window to let in the rain’s fragrance and watched its thick droplets cling to the glass, each little globe holding a miniature upside-down reflection of the scene outside.  The murmurs of conversations floating down the hall blended with the ambient sounds: the humming of the computers, the gentle thudding of doors closing, footfalls on the carpet.

People seemed to move a little more softly and slower, the familiarity of our routines wrapping around each of us with feathery comfort.  In the break room, women chatted about their families and about the dinners they would cook when they got home.

There’s a special happiness that can come when days are soft, a gentle happiness associated with nurturing and human communion.  It comes with a tinge of nostalgia and wears an aura of safety and peace.  It slows us down a little and focuses our awareness on the small things.

It’s the kind of happiness that gives rise to homey memories and glows with a sense of belonging and ease.  It’s the happiness of continuity, of the familiar.

And when you recognize it and sink into its softness, even on the days that some would call dreary, it gets you high.

When it comes right down to it, it doesn’t matter what you know about happiness.  It’s how much happiness you feel that counts.  Well, maybe not how much, as how deeply, how purely its river runs inside you.

And maybe not even that.  Maybe we’re inside the river.  Maybe it’s right there all the time, right this moment, crystalline clear and just waiting for us to taste its fragrance, to feel it lapping against our eyes, pretending to be light.

Maybe it is light.  Maybe we’re like fishes, swimming in a river of light.  Maybe we’re made of it, our organs and hairs and atoms all sloshing merrily in its time currents and jubilant waves.

What if we knew?  What if we knew we were inside happiness all the time, and it was inside us?  How would it feel?  What would we do?

Would we celebrate its still places?  It’s warm and quiet pools?  Would we see how far we could dive into its depths?  Would we cavort in and out of its waves to touch the sunbeams and starlight of its next velvety dimension?  Would we test our strength by leaping up its cascading falls?

What colors would we wear?  Would we swim alone or in happiness schools?  Would we play in the forests of seaweed, or glide through flows of glistening ice?

Oh, the choices we could make!  The wonders we could see!  If only we knew.  If only we knew.

Genuine happiness isn’t pretend.  It’s not the faked smile, the phony laugh, the bravado of putting up a good front.

It’s not trying to sell somebody, even yourself, some notion that things are brighter and better than they feel.

Genuine happiness is just that: genuine.  It flows up from the heart of life itself when you’re in harmony with the moment and tasting its delights.  It has no motive or aim.  It just is.  You can’t create it; you can only allow it and recognize it, and make way for its movement through your being.

It’s like a morning breeze, fresh and gentle and uplifting.  It sings that all is well.  It has a sweetness to it, like the fragrance of cherry blossoms in the spring.  Genuine happiness is free and pure; its laughter is authentic, its smile sincere.  And that’s its power.  That’s what lets it spread from heart to heart.

.

.

Here comes life, renewing itself again, and throwing bouquets of flowers.  “Yes!” it sings, bursting onto the stage.

Yes, regardless of what it may hold.
Yes, although it is but a brief flash in eternity.
Yes, with nothing but the drive to go forward as a guide.

Yes to the mystery.
Yes to the unfolding.
Yes to quest.
Yes to the darkness and yes to the dawn.

.

.

It was her first day in the world and the daffodil was thrilled.  The thin wrapper that had held her as a bud split in the early morning and she felt the sun’s rays on her petals.  Hers was not a shy spirit; she unfurled her ruffled petals as quickly as she could.

“Why, this is beautiful!” she thought to herself as she felt the little drops of dew condensing on her body and the kiss of the breeze dancing by, full of the music of birdsong and the whir of tiny insect wings.

She watched, mesmerized, as the pastel colors of the dawn brightened, growing sharper and more intense with every passing moment.  The little blades of grass at her base glistened in the sunlight, and the light itself took on a wonderful warmth as the sun floated higher in the sky.

She had no preconceptions about how the world should be, no judgments.   But she was awfully curious, and wholly open to experiencing whatever the day would bring.  So of course she was happy.

She didn’t feel a need to rush things along, despite the deep impulse within to keep growing, or to have them be a certain way, and so she was free to experience them just as they were, and in doing so, she found they were just as they should be.  “How perfect!” she breathed.

Her companions danced in the breeze beside her, each one so much like her, yet unique in its own way, and having no need to prove herself better or worse, she saw that every one of them was lovely and precious.

Not everything, of course, was sunshine and birdsong.  Insects came to nibble on her petals, and she noted the feeling of pain.  A big clumsy dog ran through the garden, crushing some of the daffodils’ leaves and she noted the emotions of disappointment and loss.  But she didn’t label her feelings “bad” or hold on to them.  She just observed them and let them pass and was open to what came next, thinking it rather wondrous that she was capable of such a range of emotions.

Just when she thought she could hold no more amazement over everything that unfolded throughout the day, the sky began to glow with shades of rose and orchid, turquoise and gold.  The birds began singing soothing melodies, and when the air cooled and another layer of gentle dew moistened her petals she yawned and knew it was time to fold inward and rest.

As dreams begin to wrap themselves around her, she heard frogs singing and saw the sparkle of stars shine down from the velvet sky.  Beside her, the other daffodils were drifting off to sleep, too.  “Wasn’t it beautiful?”  they whispered.  “Isn’t life grand?”

“Yes,” she whispered back.  “It was perfect.  Life is good.”  And with a smile in her heart, she feel asleep.

“Look at a day when you are supremely satisfied at the end,” said former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.  “It’s not a day when you lounge around doing nothing; it’s when you’ve had everything to do, and you’ve done it.”

I had one of those days today, and the satisfaction I feel is indeed supreme.  But the key to the satisfaction doesn’t lie in simply being busy.  It lies in being busy with purpose, in knowing ahead of time what you’re aiming to accomplish.  Then you find yourself genuinely engaged in your work; you slip into the flow of it—and that is a glorious thing.

You aren’t thinking about your goal while you’re doing the things that will make it happen; you’re just focused on the task at hand, giving yourself wholly to it, letting it absorb you.  The satisfaction and the realization of progress come at the end, when you look back and see all that you have produced.

Of course one of my goals for the day was to snag some nature photos.  My office was closed for the holiday weekend so I had the luxury of time on my side and decided to drive out to the local wetlands to see how they looked in early spring.  The brush around the marsh was still bleached from winter, and most of the trees surrounding it were still bare.  But the air was filled with the deep twang of the bullfrogs’ croaking and the trill of dozens of varieties of birds.

Although I wasn’t seeking them, I found four birds’ nests altogether.  Now there is product of high industry!  All those leaves and twigs and bits of mud and pieces of straw take countless trips to gather, and focused attention to detail to shape.  But in the end, a home emerges, fine enough to raise young in, strong enough to weather thunderstorms and big winds and pelting rain.  No wonder the birds were singing.  Their goal was clear, their work fully engaging, their final product a work of art.

Their nests weren’t built in a single day.  And the goals I’m working on are long-term, too.  But moving effectively in their direction is delicious work.  And the satisfaction that comes from seeing how much of the road I traveled has me high with happiness.

“Everyone must have felt that a cheerful friend is like a sunny day, which sheds its brightness on all around; and most of us can, as we choose, make of this world either a palace or a prison.” ~John Lubbock

As I walked out my door on my way to work this morning, the patch of miniature crocuses beamed in the morning sun like so many smiles from the earth.  Just the sight of their simple, cheery light sent a ripple of happiness through me and I decided right then and there that I was going to beam smiles today, too.  I laughed, realizing I had chosen to wear yellow.  I would be a little crocus.

I work in a busy mental health clinic, and our waiting rooms are often filled with people locked in prisons of depression.  They sit, slumped and expressionless, looking as if a great weight presses down on them.

Each time my work took me though the waiting areas today, I made a point of catching the eyes of people and smiling at them as if they, personally, were the source of my happiness.  Some looked surprised.  Some looked puzzled, as if they were trying to figure out how they knew me.  And every one of them involuntarily smiled back, if only for the briefest second.

In the afternoon I got into the elevator with two clients from our day hospital.  The woman immediately returned my smile and hello.  Then I turned my gaze to the tall, morose looking man and sent him a little wave of acceptance and compassion on a quiet, gentle smile.  Ever so slightly the corners of his mouth rose.  The woman laughed and said to him, “What are you smiling about!”

He immediately seemed uncomfortable about that, and I said to her, “Oh, it’s my fault.  See?  My smile is contagious.  He couldn’t help it.”  She grinned.  “And so is yours, I see!”  I told her.  The doors opened and we got out, with me wishing them both a fine afternoon.

I remembered a story I heard once about a man who was on his way to throw himself off a bridge to end his life.  But then someone looked him in the eye, smiled, and said “Hello.”  That brief encounter with a friendly stranger made him realize he was real, his life was real, that he didn’t really want to throw it away.

I made up an acronym for “smile” once:  “Sharing Magnificently In Light Eternal.”  I hadn’t thought about that for a long time.  But empowered by the little yellow crocuses, I got to live the truth of it again today.

“Let your intentions be good,” wrote author Grenville Kleiser, “embodied in good thoughts, cheerful words, and unselfish deeds – and the world will be to you a bright and happy place in which to work and play and serve.”

Go lightly in the world.  Spread joy.  Be a shaft of sunlight.  Be a crocus.