High on Happiness

Archive for the ‘Self-Talk’ Category

So here comes Angie Lou dragging that thick old worry bag.  She thumps it wearily up the steps and plunks down on the porch in the rocker next to Grandma’s.

“What you got there, Angie?” Grandma asks, as if she didn’t know.  “Looks kinda heavy.  You want some fresh squeezed lemonade?”

“I don’t know,” Angie says, opening the bag and hauling out a gray rag of worry.  “My stomach’s been kinda achy the past couple of days.  Maybe I’m getting an ulcer or something.”

But she accepts a glass of ice water and Grandma sets it down next to the little  vase of wild flowers on the wrought iron table.  She’s brought a small plate of cookies she baked earlier, too, while it was still cool.

Angie bites into one of the cookies, catching a falling chocolate bit with her tongue.  “I shouldn’t be eating this,” she says.  “I think I’m putting on weight,” she says,  “I’ll end up fat as a house like Aunt Liz.”

Grandma just looks at Angie’s bony hips and smiles.  A cardinal whistles from a nearby tree, and she says, “Hear that redbird?  See?  He’s right up there on the second branch.”    Angie glances toward the tree and then reaches into her bag.

“I hope a coyote didn’t get Sox, “ she says.  Sox is her cat.  “He’s been gone for two days now,” she says.  “Ben says he’s seen tracks out near the pond.”

“Oh, honey,” Grandma says, “That old cat’s been gone far longer than two days.  He knows his way around.  He’s probably got himself a new girlfriend.  Say, are you going to the fair this afternoon?”

“I wanted to,” Angie says, looking up from her rag pile and scowling.  “But I think the truck’s getting a soft tire.  And besides, it looks like it might storm.”

Grandma glances at the dramatic heap of clouds passing by.  They’ve been sailing past since morning, painting the hills with patches of deep green.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she says to Angie Lou.  “It’s like my mother used to tell me.  Clouds are like worries.  The thicker they are, the more shadows they cast.  But most of the time, they just float right on by.”

She pauses a little, rocking slowly.  “Nope,” she says quietly, “I don’t think it will storm.  Dark clouds don’t always mean rain.”

Questions to Ask Yourself to Turn a Negative State Around

A Handy Little Primer

If I’m not experiencing happiness and well-being, what am I clinging to instead?
Why am I choosing to fill my mind with pain?
What’s keeping me from letting it go?
What if I didn’t believe that?
What’s another way I could interpret this situation?
What do I want instead?
What would that feel like?
Can I tiptoe into that feeling?
What is good about this moment?
What is good right now that I’m taking for granted?
What is good about my life?
What parts of my body are working just fine?
What messages are my senses bringing me?
(How many colors do I see?  Which ones do I prefer?
What sounds am I hearing?  What other sounds lie beneath them?
What is my skin telling me?
What parts of my body would like to move right now?)
What am I learning about myself from this interesting experience?
What am I going to enjoy doing when my sense of well-being returns?
Can I begin doing some of that now?

When I say that a best friend truly understands you, what do you suppose I really mean?  Does understanding mean that your friend will sympathize with your hurts?  Comfort and console you when you are disappointed?  Stand on your side when you have been unjustly judged?  Absolutely.

But it goes farther than that.  It also means your friend understands that you don’t need to wallow in your hurt and disappointment or to carry a grudge. A true friend will remind you of your healing capacity, of the temporary nature of a wound, of your essential dignity and your ability to transcend misfortune, to reestablish your boundaries, to champion own your rights.

Do you need a meal?  Some exercise?  A change of scenery?  A nap?  A true friend sees your real needs and shows them to you.

A true friend helps you rediscover your perspective when you lose your balance.  Maybe you need a reminder that you’re not a loser just because you make mistakes, that errors are for learning, not for self-blame.  Maybe you need to see that the good in your life is far more abundant than today’s misfortune.  Maybe you didn’t see that someone’s remark or action wasn’t intended as an attack but was no more an indication of his or her mood.

Best friends can do this because they pay attention to you.  They notice what’s going on with you, and when you need it they address your needs with respect, belief in you, and positive regard.  And that’s exactly the vantage point that helps the most, and the one from which we can most benefit as we practice being our own best friends.

Here’s a secret about happiness:  As much as it loves us to be in motion, it also loves us to be at ease.  Now don’t get me wrong.  I’m not talking about being lazy, about sitting back and doing nothing.  (That has its benefits, too, of course.  But that’s a story for another day.)

I’m talking about taking the pressure off, about giving up the stress and strife of comparing yourself and your actions to some artificial standard of perfection.  I’m talking about being at ease with who you are and about recognizing that you’re always doing the best that you can with whatever awareness you have at any given moment, regardless of external deadlines or expectations.

If you could see a better way, after all, a way that was more joyful or efficient or effective, you would choose it.  The moment that you see that you need to be more mindful, you are.

Haste and tension are only obstacles that hinder our creativity and progress.  Forced speed creates more problems than it solves.  And anxiety blocks the very pathways through which solutions want to pour.  Flowing gently, with steadiness and ease, allows us to keep our focus, to remain open and attentive, to move with the energy of happiness, optimism and joy.  When you relax into the moment  it expands, and your awareness of available methods and resources increases.

All too often, we scold and criticize ourselves as if we weren’t our own best friends.  Carry a pocketful of imaginary gold stars around with you always to paste on your forehead when you need a reminder that you are beautiful and worthy and doing just fine.  Then, breathe.  Relax into the present, relax into the matter at hand, and harmonizing with it, flow gently on.

As I drove to work through the light of a glorious sunrise, the voices of the children from Mrs. Atwood’s class drifted into my mind.

Every morning she and her small group of 7-10 year olds in the rural elementary school stood in a circle holding hands to start the day with a cheer:

“I am awake! Alive!  Alert!  Enthusiastic!” they shouted.  “The mark of success is upon me.  I am a winner.  I cannot fail!”

At the end of the cheer they clapped hands and whistled, laughed and stomped their feet.  Then, bright-eyed and smiling, they took their seats and dived into their studies and projects.

I grinned at the memory.  What a fantastic way to start the day!  Glad. Present.  Ready.  Awake.  Wow!  That’s the way to do mornings.

Phooey on this barely conscious routine I see all around me, this stumbling through the haze.  That’s so limp and warmed over.   I want some of that alert, alive, enthusiastic stuff.  Top off my cup with it, and make it full strength.  Whatever you’ve got, life, bring it on.  I’m ready to rock and roll.