Growing up on Disney fairytales and romantic comedies, a part of me has longed for the “happily ever after.” The time of life when everything is set, all your troubles are behind you, and you get to revel in the good. I haven’t surveyed every human, but I’m pretty sure this is a common response. However, like I wrote about last week, happiness is a behavior, not a time or place. And part of that behavior is being grateful for what is.
Some dear friends of mine moved here recently and I’m approaching their arrival differently. In years past, I would have craved constancy and spun out into a “happily ever after” where they would be here forever, but now I know better. As much as I want to be “best friends for life” with someone, to have people in my life forever, that’s not how the world works. People that I thought I’d socialize with in my 90s, I’ve had to let go of. People I was super close to once upon a time know nothing about my life these days. Instead of being bitter about it, I’m accepting it. This is reality.
If you slow down and look, I bet you’ll find some things to be grateful for. Photo by Rodolfo Mari on Unsplash
Gratitude fits in because I’m grateful for what I’m currently experiencing, not what I think I’ll be experiencing. I’m beyond thrilled my friends are here and I’ll enjoy our time together while it lasts precisely because I know it won’t. They’ll move away or our lives will change. Something will happen, that’s inevitable, but also OK.
Psychology professor Robert Emmons says:
“[G]ratitude makes us appreciate the value of something, and when we appreciate the value of something, we extract more benefits from it; we’re less likely to take it for granted. . . . In effect, I think gratitude allows us to participate more in life. We notice the positives more, and that magnifies the pleasures you get from life. Instead of adapting to goodness, we celebrate goodness.”
I’m participating more in my current life and appreciating what I already have. The life that isn’t a fairytale, the one where I don’t have everything I could ever wish for. The life that keeps changing because we can’t press pause. In this life, I’m grateful for friends new and old. I’m grateful for the multiple communities I’m a part of. I’m grateful both my parents are still alive. I’m grateful for my nieces and nephews – the ones I’m related to by blood and the ones I’m not. I’m grateful for the cozy, safe, quiet apartment I live in. I’m grateful for flowers and sunshine and birds. I’m grateful I know what it means to feel joy and that I’m no longer trying to capture it because I recognize as much as I’d like to hold on to happy emotions, I cannot. I’m grateful I have so many things to be grateful for.
I dream of a world where we understand there is no happily ever after. A world where we remember happiness is a behavior, not a place or time. A world where we understand that we can magnify our life’s pleasures by feeling grateful for what is.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This Valentine’s Day marks 14 years since I moved to the Bay Area. My friend Emma jokingly says it’s my “golden” anniversary because the numbers match. I don’t know if this year will actually be golden, if it will be my best year yet, but I do know every year I wonder if my anniversary will be humdrum, blasé, just a date on the calendar. And every year I find just the opposite: it’s still celebratory and meaningful.
Every year I still swell with pride and choke up in gratitude that 23-year-old me, scared of just about everything, said, “OK, I’ll move,” without having a job, a place to live, or an extensive community. That little community grew and caught me every time I thought I’d fall, which could be a whole other post. It wasn’t an easy experience moving nine times in seven months, nor watching my bank account approach zero dollars and then hit it, but boy am I grateful I moved. I’m so appreciative of that young woman who didn’t give up. For continuing to try even when it would have been easy to throw in the towel. I’m grateful to her for her courage, her openness, and her willingness to go outside her comfort zone. So much happened 14 years ago and the echoes still reach me today.
Why am I writing this publicly? After all, it could have been a journal entry, a private love letter to myself, but I’m making it public because it has me wonder, have you expressed gratitude for your past self lately? Have you said, “Thank you,” to the person in the mirror?
Thank you goes a long way. Photo by Alexas_Fotos on Unsplash
Valentine’s Day is touted as a day to celebrate relationships, typically romantic ones. But the most enduring, constant relationship you’ll ever have is the one with yourself. You are the only person who is with you from birth to death. Have you said, “I’m so proud of you”? Or even given yourself a high five in the mirror?
Mel Robbins (no relation to Tony Robbins), is a motivational speaker and coach. She talks about high fiving yourself in her book The High Five Habit. During a podcast episode with Marie Forleo, she said, “You’re either going to have a really positive reaction where you’re going to laugh and you’re going to smile and it’s going to be funny and corny and all this stuff, or you will burst into tears in a very positive way. This is a very, very common thing that’s happening for people. And the tears are a positive release because you are realizing emotionally how much you’ve longed for this from yourself.”
Sometimes it’s easier to praise other people, to express our gratitude and appreciation for them, but what about you? Aren’t you just as deserving of praise, gratitude, and celebration? This Valentine’s Day, show yourself some love. I bet there’s something, some version of yourself, some moment, some age that you reflect on with appreciation. What do you want to say to that past self? As for me, I’m saying, “Thank you.”
I dream of a world where we appreciate ourselves for how far we’ve come. A world where we say, “Thank you for doing that,” to the person in the mirror. A world where we show some love to ourselves on a day that’s all about love.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I feel a little discombobulated. On the one hand, it’s Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and a time for celebrating. I am celebrating – I’m celebrating that the sky has cleared, I can see the sun again. I’m grateful for my friends, family, and community. I’m taken aback but also profoundly grateful that my business is thriving. There’s a lot to be grateful for.
On the other hand, I’m deeply troubled by what’s happening in the world: the rise in fascism, environmental catastrophes, and oh yeah, a global pandemic, which has not only killed numerous people, but has also led to unemployment and food insecurity. There’s a lot to be concerned about.
I’m reminded here this is always how life has been. Joy is frequently mixed with sorrow and we see that even in Rosh Hashanah services. There’s a part called the Mourner’s Kaddish where the entire congregation holds space for those who have lost loved ones during the past year. People call out the names of loved ones who have died so everyone can bear witness to their grief.
There can be beauty even amidst desolation. Photo by Nikola Johnny Mirkovic on Unsplash
As someone who is prone to black and white thinking, I presume my emotions will operate the same way: I’ll feel ecstatically joyful without any hint of sorrow. But again, that’s not true. This year as all of us are bombarded with one terrible piece of news after another, I continue to pursue joy and cling to it like a buoy in the sea.
I’m reminded here of a poem by Jack Gilbert titled “A Brief For The Defense” that seems especially relevant:
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that’s what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.
As we are all grappling with all the injustice in the world, all the destruction, all the grief, I encourage you to also have the stubbornness to accept your gladness. To find joy when and where you can because the world isn’t one way or another – it’s both, it’s all of it, it’s everything. I’m not advocating spiritual bypassing or whitewashing the horrors in the world. No. Instead I’m advocating feeling your feelings, recognizing it’s true life can be terrible, but also recognizing it’s true that there are babies laughing, flowers blooming, and lovers dancing. That life can also be joyful even in the most horrendous of circumstances. Life, and people, are complicated like that.
I dream of a world where we embrace delight. A world where we recognize joy can be mixed with sorrow. A world where we find the beauty in the world as a tonic to our hearts, reminding us there’s more to life than tragedy. A world where we celebrate as we grieve.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’m sick right now and didn’t feel well enough to write a new post or record any audio. The post that came to mind to recycle is from my birthday nearly six years ago. Enjoy! And just in case it wasn’t clear, I’m grateful for you. <3
Today is my 29th birthday, that is, if you’re reading this on December 1st. It’s been a less than stellar day because I had to work from 8:30 to 4:30, I’m still experiencing pain from the car accident, and I’m not having a big party. Suffice to say, today has not turned out the way I expected. The challenge for me is to find the good in what is.
I think we all have expectations of certain days — birthdays, holidays, graduation, first dates, etc. — and when those expectations aren’t met we’re left feeling disappointed. I know I am. However, even though today hasn’t gone the way I’d hoped and I’m not feeling the buzz I normally do on my birthday, there’s been a lot of good about today too. I’ve received numerous telephone calls, text messages, and facebook posts from friends near and far wishing me well. My mom is at this moment making me a delicious dinner. There’s a lot of love for me in this world and today is the day I get to bask in it.
It’s my birthday! Here are some pretty cupcakes.
What’s awesome is I spoke to a friend on the phone and I mentioned that if I was in Chicago like I normally am at this time of year to cover a conference, I’d still be celebrating my birthday with family because my sister lives there. Hearing myself say that I was taken aback because I’m so lucky, I’m so loved, I have a lot of community all over the world, which is amazing.
I’m telling you all this not to brag, but because I’m sincerely grateful. Sometimes gratitude becomes dry as I reel off all the things I’m grateful for like heat and food and a roof over my head because I list those things every day. If something occurs every day it becomes mundane, ordinary, common — at least it does for me. So when something doesn’t go the way I expect, it’s even more important for me to find the good about what is. What’s good about the here and now? What’s true? When I do that I can genuinely pull the feeling of gratitude into my heart because I am grateful for my friends and family, I am grateful so many people are wishing me happy birthday, and I am grateful I chose to come into this world on this day. Thank you for being with me on my journey.
I dream of a world where even in sucky situations we can find something good about what is. A world where we all feel genuinely grateful for something. A world where we not only accept what is, but we find something positive about it.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Right now some things are very uncertain and all I can think about is this post from July 2016 so I’m sharing it again.
“Do not set your eyes on things far off.” – Pythian Odes
I’ve had at least four people mention to me some iteration of, “What are the gifts where you are?” so it seemed like a good post to write today.
I am deeply unhappy about a few things in my life. There are a few things I want to change and they aren’t changing fast enough, darnit. It’s easy for me to peer ahead, to fantasize about the future, and then get frustrated when the future is not my present reality. I’ve had so much resentment this week about that and accordingly, people keep asking me to practice gratitude for where I am.
Don’t peer too far ahead.
It didn’t go well because I don’t want to practice gratitude for where I am. I don’t want to see the gifts from my current situation. I’d much rather live in the imagined future where my dreams have come true, thank you very much. But here’s the icky thing: I’m not there. As much as I want to be, do, or have something else, that’s not this present moment. And because I don’t enjoy this present moment, it means my compulsions have kicked up. I keep checking facebook, email, and instagram to pull me from the here and now because I’m not enjoying the here and now.
As you can imagine, my compulsions haven’t solved anything either.
I experienced a shift when I asked myself, “What if I viewed this situation as temporary? What if I knew it would end?” Somehow that made all the difference. For me, whatever I’m experiencing now, I think I’ll experience forever. It’s hard for me to keep in mind this too shall pass, and it’s the notion there isn’t an endpoint that causes me so much distress. When I know there’s an endpoint though, everything becomes more bearable. And when I know there’s an endpoint, I can start to see the gifts of my current situation. I view things differently and understand this is a period where I’m being given the opportunity to cultivate whatever, fill in the blank, and I get myself back to a place of gratitude.
I know this is a vague post but that’s because I’m not ready to discuss the specifics in a public forum, but I think the lesson is a good one. How often do we view our present situation as interminable? How often do we think the way things are will be the way things continue? It’s helpful for me not to say to myself, “This too shall pass,” because, great, glad to know maybe when I’m 95 this will pass, but instead to affirm this has an endpoint because it does. When I know there’s an endpoint, I can quit asking, “When will this be over?” Staying present can be difficult sometimes, but maybe if we knew there will be an end, staying present would be easier.
I dream of a world where we’re able to focus on the here and now, even if we don’t like it. A world where we understand all things are temporary. A world where we do our best to stay present because we understand each experience or period has something for us to mine.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This Valentine’s Day marks 10 years since I moved to California. I can’t believe it’s been that long – five years I could believe, but 10? That’s almost a third of my life. I’m grateful I made the decision to move here, I’m grateful for my life here, my friends here, my community here, but also I’m sad.
I’m not sad about the decision, because like I said, I love California. California is home. I’m sad I’m not 23 anymore. I don’t want to go back in time and relive 23 because I was scared, anxious, and insecure much of the time, but in other ways I miss who I was. I miss how excited I felt, how enthusiastic I was. I miss the newness of the world around me. I know I’m still young and I’ll still experience new things, but now I have a point of reference. When I travel to new countries, they remind me of other countries. When I try a new restaurant, it reminds me of another restaurant. As I get older, even new things are slightly familiar.
I feel grateful and I feel sad. Photo by Sweet Ice Cream Photography on Unsplash.
Really what’s happening here is I’m grieving the old me. Celebrating my anniversary reminds me of who I used to be and who I am now. The gap is large, in a good way, but it’s still a gap. Through my work in therapy, I’m learning it’s important to grieve for my old selves. To feel a sense of loss for the person I once was and can no longer be. The sadness exists and doesn’t go away through any rationalization on my part, nor any amount of looking on the bright side. Mourning the old me reminds me of a quote from my spiritual teacher.
He said, “Death is nothing but change. A 5-year-old child is transformed in due course into a 15-year-old boy. In 10 years, the child becomes the boy. Thereafter, you will never be able to find the body of the 5-year-old child. So the child’s body has certainly died.” He then goes on to mention the boy growing into a man, and then hitting middle age, then old age, until he finally dies and says, “The rest of the changes we do not call death; but in fact, all the changes qualify as death.”
That means my 23-year-old died and it’s important for me to honor and say goodbye to her, just as it’s important for me to honor and say goodbye to other people when they die. And that’s what it feels like today, that I’m saying goodbye to the 23-year-old me. I’m remembering what I liked about her and what I disliked, and I feel sad. A little voice in my head is saying, “It’s almost Valentine’s Day! You should be writing about love and happy things! No one wants to read a depressing post!” That may be true, but also in multiple conversations with people they told me they felt like they had to be happy and upbeat in order to talk with me and I said, “No you don’t. You get to be whoever you are. I don’t mind if you’re happy or sad. Either way is fine by me,” and I meant it. And I mean it for me, too.
As we approach Valentine’s Day, I hope you will also let yourself feel sad if sadness arises. I hope that you will grieve old selves and old loves if that bubbles up. I also hope you know that doesn’t diminish the good things in your life, or take away how grateful you are for changes. All changes are deaths and all deaths need mourning.
I dream of a world where we mourn our losses. A world where we let ourselves feel how we feel with love and acceptance. A world where we recognize we can feel sad about the past and grateful for the present at the same time.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
“Do not set your eyes on things far off.” – Pythian Odes
I’ve had at least four people mention to me some iteration of, “What are the gifts where you are?” so it seemed like a good post to write today.
I am deeply unhappy about a few things in my life. There are a few things I want to change and they aren’t changing fast enough, darnit. It’s easy for me to peer ahead, to fantasize about the future, and then get frustrated when the future is not my present reality. I’ve had so much resentment this week about that and accordingly, people keep asking me to practice gratitude for where I am.
Don’t peer too far ahead.
It didn’t go well because I don’t want to practice gratitude for where I am. I don’t want to see the gifts from my current situation. I’d much rather live in the imagined future where my dreams have come true, thank you very much. But here’s the icky thing: I’m not there. As much as I want to be, do, or have something else, that’s not this present moment. And because I don’t enjoy this present moment, it means my compulsions have kicked up. I keep checking facebook, email, and instagram to pull me from the here and now because I’m not enjoying the here and now.
As you can imagine, my compulsions haven’t solved anything either.
I experienced a shift when I asked myself, “What if I viewed this situation as temporary? What if I knew it would end?” Somehow that made all the difference. For me, whatever I’m experiencing now, I think I’ll experience forever. It’s hard for me to keep in mind this too shall pass, and it’s the notion there isn’t an endpoint that causes me so much distress. When I know there’s an endpoint though, everything becomes more bearable. And when I know there’s an endpoint, I can start to see the gifts of my current situation. I view things differently and understand this is a period where I’m being given the opportunity to cultivate whatever, fill in the blank, and I get myself back to a place of gratitude.
I know this is a vague post but that’s because I’m not ready to discuss the specifics in a public forum, but I think the lesson is a good one. How often do we view our present situation as interminable? How often do we think the way things are will be the way things continue? It’s helpful for me not to say to myself, “This too shall pass,” because, great, glad to know maybe when I’m 95 this will pass, but instead to affirm this has an endpoint because it does. When I know there’s an endpoint, I can quit asking, “When will this be over?” Staying present can be difficult sometimes, but maybe if we knew there will be an end, staying present would be easier.
I dream of a world where we’re able to focus on the here and now, even if we don’t like it. A world where we understand all things are temporary. A world where we do our best to stay present because we understand each experience or period has something for us to mine.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
In yoga there is a concept of santosha, or contentment that I’ve always struggled with. I am rarely content with what I have and am usually focused on what’s next as opposed to what is. This week I had two interactions that brought some perspective.
When I flew back to the West Coast a couple of Saturdays ago, I started chatting with the guy next to me. I asked him if he liked where he lived and the answer was, “No.” When I asked him why he’s lived there so long he said because of his job. In that moment, I felt a swell of gratitude and contentment.
So, I know I’m inferring some things, but this guy sure looks content!
My gypsy lifestyle is not without its challenges (hello moving more times than years I’ve been alive), but the one thing I will say is if I’m unhappy in a place I’ll move. I’d much rather take a chance on an uncertain future than a discontented secure one. I love that about myself. I appreciate the fact I’m willing to take a risk, to do the scary thing, in the hopes it will pay off.
In this same conversation, my seatmate asked me if I traveled much. My curt reply was, “Yes.” It got me thinking about all the places I’ve been lucky enough to see in my life. Usually I’m comparing myself with others and coming up short. I’ll think to myself, “Yeah, I’ve traveled a lot, but I haven’t traveled as much as so-and-so,” or, “Yeah, but I haven’t been to _____.” I’m constantly striving ahead instead of being content with what I have. In that reflective plane ride, I felt appreciation for the places I’ve seen, and the places I’ve lived.
A few days after I arrived, I got my haircut. The hairdresser started telling me about her life and I was again amazed to hear about someone’s life that is so different from mine. She’s 23 and has never lived anywhere else. She’s barely left the state. She also told me about her sister, who is close to my age, and has the sort of life I thought I would have at 30: married, owns a house, possibly babies in the future. Her sister also hasn’t left the state or lived anywhere else. In that moment, I peeked into the life of someone else and found that in fact I am content with my own.
What I am getting at here, perhaps poorly, is that so often I look at what I don’t have, how my life doesn’t look the way I think it should, and I forget to remember what’s great about it. And I don’t mean the things we’re all grateful for – a place to sleep, enough to eat, great friends – I mean the character traits I possess, the way I choose to live my life. I see possibilities of other ways of being and I feel content because despite everything, life is pretty good.
I dream of a world where we’re all able to cultivate contentment for ourselves. A world where we want what we already have. A world where we take the time to pause and congratulate ourselves for what we’re doing right. A world where we have santosha.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I have some news. I’m moving! Not just talking about it, but actually moving at the end of this month. (Yay!) Moving is one of the most stressful things a person can experience, right under death of a loved one and a divorce, apparently. Needless to say, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed because on top of my already super-busy life, I have to add packing to the mix. One of the most beautiful, miraculous things coming out of this is people are offering to help me.
People are coming out of the woodwork to offer help moving or driving or picking up boxes. It’s been amazing because I often don’t know who to ask or even what to ask much of the time. To have someone say to me, “Oh, you can forward Craigslist ads of scooters to me to help you figure out what to buy,” is such a relief. To have someone say, “I’ll help you bring a load of stuff to your new place,” makes me want to weep with gratitude.
When I saw this picture I couldn’t resist using it. How cute is this?!?
I’m a very independent person. I like to do things by myself and I pride myself on being able to accomplish things on my own. When people want to help me it’s almost shocking because it’s a reminder I’m not alone, I’m not an island, I exist in a community, and furthermore, people want to help me.
That’s hard for me to remember because my first reaction is often, “I need to take care of this myself,” or “I need to figure this out.” I forget I’m not supposed to have all the answers and be a completely autonomous being. Other people have skills and assets I do not and that’s why I ask for help! There’s something particularly sweet though about not even asking and instead people offering. It feels like an extra special gift that someone wants to show up in my life in that way. It’s touching.
This is a rambly post but that’s because I’m super tired. Mostly, I want to express my gratitude for the people in my life who are offering to help me, for showing up in that way, because it means a lot. This is also my way of saying, offer help when you can because it will probably mean a lot to the person to whom you are offering. It shows a level of care and service that reminds me of the goodness in humanity.
I dream of a world where we offer help when we can. A world where we see all the ways that help is provided to us. A world where we remember we don’t have to do everything by ourselves, but that there are people waiting to help us. A world where we show we care for each other by being helpful.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
A few weeks ago I listened to a radio show by Radleigh Valentine and he said on average people laugh 15 times a day. Fifteen times! And then he asked, “Do you remember if you laughed at all yesterday?” He pointed out it’s easy to remember the unpleasant things – the times we’re sad or scared or anxious – but the joyful times, the laughing times, are easier to forget. He encouraged his listeners to take note of when they laugh, to see if it adds up to 15 times. And then he said something really interesting: Plan for joy.
Radleigh does angel tarot and he suggested printing out this card as a reminder to plan for joy.
When he said, “Plan for joy” I wanted to pause his radio show so I could take that in. It hasn’t occurred to me lately I would need to plan for joy – I assumed joy would sort of happen if I bumbled around in my life. But you know? That’s not true – I mean, sure, I stumble across joy every once and a while like an adventurer coming into a clearing – but it wasn’t necessarily something I planned for. I assumed I’d experience joy once my life was peachy keen – when my financial situation improved, the love of my life came along, etc. I think you know this already, but joy is the quiet moments, the small events that we may not remember long after they happen. It’s having a friend call you up spontaneously asking to hang out. It’s laughing along with a television show. It’s finding out the book you put on hold at the library has become available.
Joy can be spontaneous but it can also be planned and that’s what struck me the most about Radleigh’s show. In an interesting juxtaposition, I had a powerful therapy session this week. I went from fearful, anxious, and insecure in one moment to laughing, goofy, and joyful in the next. My therapist had me remember a moment I felt joyful, loved, appreciated and embody it. Notice what colors I associated with the experience and then she asked me if a movement or sound accompanied it. It did – joy for me looks like strutting with my toes flexed and my heels out singing along to “Let’s go fly a kite” or Life of Brian’s “Always look on the bright side of life.”
What amazes me is no matter how icky I feel, strutting around my cottage and singing “Always look on the bright side of life,” automatically puts a smile on my face and lifts my mood. I can be melodramatic and get caught up in what’s wrong with my life. Lately, like I wrote on my birthday, I’m noticing what’s right. I’m seeking joy even in the midst of the things I do not like. And I’m remembering joy is not winning the lottery or buying a new car, it’s humming to myself while I walk, it’s remembering all the times I laughed yesterday, it’s making an active effort to improve my mood because I am planning for joy.
I dream of a world where we remember we can access joy at any time. A world where we all have that one song that brings a smile to our face. A world where we remember the times we laugh. A world where we not only experience joy, but we plan for it.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.