High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘baby steps’

We’re celebrating the first ritual of spring in my county today.  Its maple syrup weekend, with all-you-can-eat pancakes, buckwheat cakes and sausages served at the lodge in the park.

For weeks, white buckets dotted the park’s acres, collecting the rising sap of the maples.  And today it was ready, boiled down and bottled, a one of a kind sweet treat.

People come in droves and stand in line for over an hour or more to share the feast.  Or, like me, to go to the drive-through stand and buy jugs of the trees’ gift to take home.

Once I had my prize, I drove to a distant corner of the park away from the festivities and walked in the cold spring air by the creek.  At first glance, it looked as if winter still had a hard hold on the land.  Although the buds on the trees were swollen, none had yet given birth to green leaves. Ankle deep layers of brown sycamore and oak leaves covered the ground.  And beneath the overcast sky, the creek was leaden.

But when I looked down, a baby clump of an emerald vine was smiling up at me as it pushed its way through the fallen leaves.  And it triggered a time-lapsed vision in my mind of its spread, of the grasses pushing up beside it, turning the whole hillside green.

Spring doesn’t happen all at once.  It unfolds in incremental changes, so tiny you hardly notice.  But a month from now, the world will be transformed.

What could I do, I wondered, if I took a baby-step a day toward some desired end?  What could you do?

Beneath my feet, the emerald vine shimmered its answer.

As I headed home from work yesterday, suddenly the scene before me took on a kind of Norman Rockwell feel.  I had the sense that I was viewing a classic moment, with an almost nostalgic universality to it.

Here, on this fine spring afternoon, someone was carting home a truckload of bright azaleas.

Was it a spontaneous purchase?  A gift?  A decision made over dinner?  I would have loved to know the story.  But I could make up my own.  The sight itself was enough to smooth my face into a warm smile.

A little spot of joy was going home to brighten someone’s spirits and yard.

“Joy spots!”  Oh, my! I hadn’t thought about those in years!  And now this truckload of flowers brought the memory back.

I got the idea from an article I read in a magazine that suggested you leave every room you enter better than you found it in some way.   Pick up a piece of lint from the floor, wipe the dust from a surface, straighten a painting on the wall.  On a whim, I decided to try it for awhile, to see if I could create what I came to call “joy spots.”

I was working as a waitress at the time and the idea carried over into my work life.  I decided I would do whatever I could to make my customers’ visits one of the joy spots in their days.  I made sure each table was clean and well-set before I seated them.  I paid attention to each customer’s style and treated them with respect.  Did they want conversation, or unobtrusive, attentive service?  I did my best to deliver.  I made sure their food reached their tables as soon as it was prepared, and that their bills were ready when they were ready to leave.  It was a challenge in the busy restaurant where I worked, but it made the job more meaningful and fun.  And I routinely hauled in great tips and genuine thanks from people, too.

I dropped the phrase “joy spots” a hundred years ago.  But I still do what I can to leave a room better than I found it.  I try to bring a touch of light to those I encounter, to sooth or comfort, to encourage or support.  But after yesterday, I have a new name for the practice.  As my evenings come to a close and I do my little daily review, I think I’ll ask myself, “Did you bring home some azaleas?”

In psychology it’s called “successive approximation” or “shaping.”   In business seminars across the world, it’s the popular Japanese technique of continuous improvement known as “kaizen.”   Except for the universe itself, which seems to have boomed into existence with one big bang, it’s the way most things grow.  Personally, I like to call the process “taking baby steps.”

I like “baby steps” for two reasons.  Well, okay, three.  First, it reminds me of playing the game “Mother May I?” when I was a kid.  Players had to ask the leader if they could take a ten baby steps toward the finish line.  If we remembered to use the phrase “Mother May I?” our request was granted.  If we took the steps without asking, we had to start over again.  Baby steps were carefully taken, little tiny steps, where one foot barely moved past the other.  Otherwise, you were cheating.  It was a fun game, and I associate the fun of it with taking really small steps.

Secondly, “baby steps” reminds me of the way real babies learn to walk.  Man!  Are they determined little critters!  Nothing discourages them.  One little bit at a time, they practice standing, balancing, moving one foot, getting up from the floor, balancing again, moving one foot, holding on, moving the other foot, letting go.  They just keep practicing and practicing and practicing until the whole complex process comes together and they’re out in the yard chasing the dog across the grass.

(And three, I like it just because babies are so doggone adorable that the mere mention of the word ‘baby’ makes me smile inside.)

“Inch by inch,” said Dr. Robert Schuller, “anything’s a cinch.”  “The journey of a thousand miles,” said Buddha “begins with a single step.”

I have a friend who has a list of a couple dozen things she wants to accomplish or master and every day she makes a check mark by the ones where she has made even the slightest move forward.  She calls it her kaizen list.  And over time, she accomplishes more than anyone I know.

Want to clean your bedroom?  Pick up a sock.  Want to demolish that heap of papers on your desk?  File one piece, or three, or throw one or two away.  Want to create an exercise routine?  Practice moving some part of you for two extra minutes every day.  Want to read more books?  Get one out and read a paragraph or page a day or during each TV commercial.

Nature paints whole landscapes by opening its buds one tiny millimeter at a time.  One straw at a time, a bird builds a nest.  One brick at a time, a man builds a cathedral.  One more smile each day, one more act of kindness, one more whisper of gratitude, and pretty soon, your positivity ratio has permanently tipped to the plus side.

It’s a great way to build your happiness practices.  Give it a try.