Happiness, again

The Constitution of the United States guarantees Americans the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It does not guarantee happiness itself; only the right to pursue it.

The pursuit of happiness is, I believe, ingrained in humans. But how do we square our pursuit of happiness with the selfishness that makes the natural man an enemy to God?

Because of my faith, I believe God and Jesus Christ want me to turn from my natural tendencies to complain, be selfish, sleep too much, eat too much, and just be nasty. It is much easier to give in to these tendencies than to fight them, unfortunately.

But, oddly enough, behaving in the way that feels most natural to me does not bring me happiness. Quite the contrary! I am happiest when I am exercising, accomplishing tasks that help my family, and striving to become more disciplined and productive.

Recently I finished the book, The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. She is a 30-something attorney-turned-writer in New York, the mother of two, and an inveterate researcher. So she set up her own project to become happier over the course of a year. And guess what? She found that happiness was highest when she was kinder and nicer to her husband and kids, including extending more patience and compassion to her daughters (I wish I'd been able to learn this 25 years ago), disciplining herself by mindfully working resolutions to eat better, organize better, and overall exercise more self-discipline; to increase her charitable donations, and to cultivate a more loving and benevolent attitude toward life. It was fascinating to read about her discoveries that led to what I would call a more Christlike life.

And she came to these conclusions in a completely secular way.

One of the things she did was designate a week wherein she made no negative comments whatsoever. It was difficult, and she did not do it perfectly, but she became mindful of what she was doing and really tried to be completely positive. This is one thing I am definitely going to do!

Rubin also came to the conclusion that being cheerful and positive are harder to do than being cranky and negative. Very true. It was a boost to have someone acknowledge this. I remind myself of it when I am trying to be cheerful in the face of problems or another person's negativity.

Reading this book helped me know that I am on the right path for myself. I am impressed that she came to these conclusions so early in life--I wish I had, but at least I was living the gospel of Jesus Christ, so I was making some progress in the right direction.

I am excited to begin a new year for the first time in a long time. I choose to be happy this new year.

Choosing Happiness

Abraham Lincoln said once that "a man is just about as happy as he decides to be." My paraphrase, anyway. And recently I have had this truth brought home to me.

I had a long conversation with someone that made me realize that holding on to the myriad past hurts and offenses we inevitably experience in life is unbelievably damaging and completely robs one of happiness. And it was clear to me that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is called the "plan of happiness" for a reason. As we choose to model our lives after that of Christ, to look for the good in others, to respect them as children of God as we ourselves are, to allow them their choices for good or ill, without judgment, and to give ourselves over to love and light, we do better. We are happy. We are comfortable in our own skin.

I had heard of the book, The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, on a television show. I hadn't read it, but I proposed it for our book group to read and we chose it. So I am reading it now.

Rubin takes a year of her life to improve her own happiness--which, she discovers, means to exercise more self-discipline in every area of her life, to choose the better way. We members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints know this already, but it's interesting to gain the perspective of another person and see the specific things she did and learn the reasons for her choosing them. Now, the shortcut is to simply live the gospel of Jesus Christ, but that's more easily said than done!

My conversation with that sad, angry, resentful person made me so grateful for the ability I have cultivated, through long hard practice, of letting go of the things I can do nothing about, to forgive those who have hurt me, however inadvertently or deliberately, and to enjoy the present. No, life is not perfect! But embracing the beauty with all its imperfection is still the happiest way to live.

I have often searched for perfect leaves in the fall to press and display. It's nearly impossible to find a single leaf that is perfectly symmetrical, evenly colored, and without spot. I usually can't find one, and so I choose what I consider to be the best color, or best shape, and abandon the idea of a perfect one. But if you look at the whole--the gorgeous trees in all their blazing fall colors--the landscape is so incredibly beautiful it brings tears to your eyes. Yet, among those millions and millions of leaves, barely one is perfect. And it doesn't matter to the view one bit.

Yesterday was December first, the beginning of the end of the year. I feel I have come to a major turning point in my life. It's far different than I have experienced before, for some reason. I think it may be hormonal--my post-menopause body is settling in, and although I don't like the dry skin, wrinkles, and thickened waist, the reprieve from the hormonal stew is welcome.

But that is not the only thing that has contributed to the changes. This past year has been one of difficult growth. I have suffered emotionally more than I ever thought possible, and I am suffering physically as well, with a chronic back problem that simply has to be managed rather than cured.

I have also spent a huge amount of money traveling back and forth to Utah, which I would have preferred to spend on a new kitchen! The year I chose to quit working and write only! And my dishwasher is broken! (To be fair, it is over 10 years old.)

The combination of this list of difficulties and disappointments would have sent me into a depressed spiral years ago, and I would have gone running for meds to try to hang on. Not that I didn't feel like this from time to time this past year. However, I realized yesterday, as I drove home from a friend's house, listening to Christmas songs on the car radio, that I am very happy, just as I am. As happy as I have ever been.

Somehow, in some way, I have learned to choose happiness rather than to dwell on the negative. Not that those thoughts don't come; they do, but I can banish them now and move on with more ease.

I know that not everyone has to come to my stage in life to understand all these things. This has been my journey only. Do I wish I'd been able to feel this way twenty years ago? Absolutely! I would and could have done a lot of things better and felt much happier. But this has been my imperfect journey, and I am grateful for it. There's still much more to do, and I am lucky enough to be around to do it.

The Benefit of the Doubt

I absolutely do not believe that the vast majority of people have malicious intentions toward others. Yet, some people I know are certain that others wish them ill and are actively out to get them. (I recently learned that this is called "Fundamental Attribution Errors." People erroneously attribute ill will to others while excusing their own mistakes with things like, "Well, I was stressed," or tired, or ill, etc.)

For example, the other morning I was watching Sunday Morning with my dad. They featured a story about an L.A. cop who has never, ever, had a complaint lodged against him. This is unheard-of. So they interviewed the guy and watched him handing out traffic tickets.

His attitude was one of kindness and respect and safety. He set up a win-win situation with those he was fining for breaking the law! The drivers liked him, because he didn't try to order them around, shame them, or create an adversarial relationship with them. He gave them the benefit of the doubt. And isn't that how we all want to be treated?

So if the Golden Rule says "do unto others as you would have them do unto you," why don't more people give others the same benefit of the doubt? Why do they ascribe sinister motives to someone else, look for reasons to take offense, and allow this to make them angry?

I've been reading a book called The Power, by Rhonda Byrne, who also wrote The Secret. While they are new-age and kind of smarmy and simplistic, the message is: Love. Love is the most positive force in the universe, and as we express it toward everyone and everything, we bring it to ourselves. This is essentially the same message delivered in a more thoughtful and sophisticated way in Bonds that Make us Free. Christ teaches us to love one another--no matter what. We need to worry less about our own needs being met, and reach out to meet the needs of others.

My dear late mother truly believed that the only thing that mattered was the way she treated people, and it didn't matter what she thought of them. I disagree. We need to send positive, benevolent thoughts and behaviors to everyone, regardless of how they treat us. I believe that as we think, so are we. If we are positive and happy, it positively affects others, and don't we love being around positive, happy people?

This is not easy, but it is absolutely necessary.

Be Kind to Yourself

Why is it that most of us have no trouble being kind to other people, but when it comes to ourselves, we just can't do it?

We dwell on the mistakes, imperfections, humiliations--the times when we felt "less than." Less than what others expected of us, less than what we expected of ourselves.

Even though I have had moments of epiphany when I have discovered that it's okay to be imperfect, that imperfection is normal and that perfection is rarely obtained, and that imperfection usually doesn't matter at all, it is still very, very hard for me to accept this in myself.

I know that God accepts me in all my imperfection, that He loves me, and that he appreciates my striving to be better. and that I can cast my burdens at His feet.

All humans are worthy of love and belonging, including me. We are loved by, and belong to, a wonderful Heavenly Father. We follow Him by extending His love to all--and we must accept this love for ourselves, imperfections and all.

Liking What One Has to Do

In my sophomore year of college, I read a very thought-provoking quote posted on the dorm floor's bulletin board.

"The secret to life is not doing what one likes, but learning to like what one has to do." (Dinah Maria Mulok Craik)

This is very true. As I was forcing myself through my exercise class today--I really dislike exercise of any sort--I realized that most of the time, I am doing what I have to do, not what I'd like to do. What I really like is the end result of the things I have to do, such as a stronger, slimmer, flexible body, a clean floor, draperies in the living room, a delicious meal.

I do enjoy the process of knitting as well as the finished product, but that, for me, is rare. Oh, and I like spending money and reading. But I can't, and don't, spend money I do not have and I try not to read when I have other responsibilities that are more pressing.

The thing is, I have learned that being an adult means that you exercise the self-discipline to do things you don't really like, but that benefit your family, or yourself sometime in the future.

College was not an enjoyable experience for me, and I was too immature to try to figure out how I could learn to like what I had to do. If I had just given myself permission to take some classes for fun, rather than zoom my way through just what I had to take to graduate, perhaps it would have been a better experience. Still, it was something I had to do--and I was able to support myself after I graduated.

I took upon myself obligations and responsibilities when I got married, and I have learned to like at least some of the things I have to do. I feel proud of myself when I hold my tongue and resist nagging my husband, and I feel happy when I see the stacks of clean, fresh laundry or the beautifully made bed.

Dedication to the gospel of Jesus Christ has brought with it obligations and many tasks I'd rather not do, but I am grateful to God for my health and strength and other blessings, so I don't begrudge the service I give in His kingdom.

Doing what one likes all the time does not bring happiness or self-esteem. Discipline, courage, and remaining positive when doing what one has to do, does.

More on Joy

My feeling is that pleasures are short-lived--the pleasure of eating a delicious meal, reading a good book, watching a movie, finishing a task and admiring the result. Joy, on the other hand, is deep happiness that threads its way through a well-lived life.

I read this quote, by Brene Brown:

"Twinkle lights are the perfect metaphor for joy. Joy is not a constant. It comes to us in moments--often ordinary moments. Sometimes we miss out on the bursts of joy because  we're too busy chasing down extraordinary moments...A joyful life is not a floodlight of joy. That would eventually become unbearable."

Brown goes on to say that because we are anxious, joy and gratitude can be very vulnerable and intense experiences, so we sabotage the joy because, perhaps we fear it won't last, or we are worried that the other shoe will drop. My mother was the master of this kind of thinking. It robbed her of happiness her entire life.

I know that joy and happiness are part of God's plan for His children. I believe that living with an open heart, with benevolence toward others and forgiveness of oneself, is the road to deep and lasting joy.

Cup of Sorrows, Mountain of Joy

Kahlil Gibran is supposed to have said, "Your cup of sorrows is carved from your mountain of joy."

Sometimes it seems to be the other way around.

This month has been a terrible emotional roller coaster. My youngest separated from her husband of less than eight months. She told us this three days before I left to attend the birth of our first grandchild.

The couple has sought counseling and she moved back in with her husband, but she seems to have abandoned her responsibilities. Stress makes her anxious, and she is quick to rewrite history to support what she wants to do right then--run away. The entire situation has made me physically ill. My heart literally feels like a broken weight in my chest. This is the same girl who was a lovely bride last fall, taking on herself serious religious commitments and responsibilities!

There has been much prayer and temple attendance, which are great blessings, but I fear that she has not changed her heart and may never do so.

The baby took his time making his appearance, so I extended my stay (at great expense) twice. I will have been here over three weeks by the time I leave on Friday, June 22. The Lord wanted me here for my children, and though it has been very tough, I am trying to submit myself to this trial meekly.

But then there is the mountain of joy. Our little grandson was born on Monday, June 18, his great-grandmother's 91st birthday. He is beautiful, and doing well. Babies are such a miracle. We are so happy to have him in our family!

An amazing revelation occurred to me today: My life is far from perfect. I keep trying to make it perfect, and berate myself for the imperfections. This wrong. No more! I need to embrace my life--and live it as my own, as imperfect as it is, because it is mine. It's okay just to do my best, honoring my covenants and repenting when I need to. I embrace my interesting, imperfect life.

And it is beautiful.

The Loss of Humble Skills

I came of age just after the New Feminism (ushered in by Betty Friedan's "The Feminine Mystique," the Pill, and early-seventies consciousness-raising) had its heyday. So I still experienced traditional home economics classes in junior high (the boys took shop classes). We had a semester of sewing and a semester of cooking. Enough to at least learn to get by in the kitchen and to make a basic skirt and blouse.

At the same time, raised by a working mother, I swallowed hook, line, and sinker the idea that to be a true success, a woman must have a Meaningful Career. And I thought I wanted that, until I had a child. Suddenly, someone else's well-being was more important than mine. I necessarily slammed the door shut on my own professional ambitions.

Unfortunately, the situation has worsened over the intervening 30 years. Now, more women than men graduate from college, and they are bound and determined to use those degrees to live lavishly and build up stock portfolios and 401(k)s.

This is not necessarily a good thing.

We have raised a generation of women who, in pursuing careers as being morally superior to any other option, do not know how to cook, clean, or raise children. Men too have suffered; they cannot do simple wiring or building construction, or even change the oil in their own cars. Blue-collar work is frowned upon, regarded as the last resort of the redneck or the immigrant.

True homemaking has been replaced with doing crafts and heating up frozen foods--though occasionally elaborate desserts are made from scratch. The maid does the floors; I have seen even t-shirts in protective plastic bags awaiting their owners at the dry cleaner. Kids go from the daycare center to the school, then to sports or other classes. All yard work is hired out; the car goes to the dealership for everything.

Does anyone besides me think this is dangerous? Does anyone else realize that when a parent puts work first, her child gets the message that work is more important than he is? That you can't give your best to both your family and your career? That being able to take care of one's own belongings and dwelling are important life skills?

Women, I suggest you go home. Learn to live with, and on, less. Discover the joy in caring for your family and your husband to a higher degree. Slow down. Enjoy growing a few flowers or sewing some curtains. Fix a family meal from scratch--no microwave needed. Make your home an oasis of calm in a hectic world, instead of one more hectic place where everyone just stops for a change of clothes.

The Burden of Motherhood

My kids all at one time or another, have praised their childhood and said they were happy compared to a lot of other people.

No more.

I tried very hard to encourage positive things and discourage negative things. But I have one child in particular who took my chastisements very hard, evidently. And this child refuses to forgive and move on.

Was I an alcoholic? Abusive? A sloppy housekeeper? Selfish? Neglectful? Did I ignore them? No. My husband and I were at almost every game and performance. We went on field trips. Healthful meals were on the table. The rooms were decorated with custom-made draperies and bedding. We paid a good portion of the college tuition, and they went to the schools of their choice. We took them to church. We encouraged them to be creative, letting them use cameras and art supplies. We have a wall of books, which they were free to read. They all graduated from early-morning church seminary, and I was the one who got up and made sure they got there. They had beautiful homemade Halloween, Colonial Day, and Medieval Day costumes. They had hand-knit sweaters. I made homemade cakes for birthdays. Christmas was a beautiful, festive event. We We went to both Disneyland and Disney World, the beach, New York, Niagara Falls and other places on family vacations. We paid for lovely wedding events. I taught them to write thank-you notes. But I still went wrong, evidently.

We were not perfect. My husband and I argued in front of them sometimes, we griped about our responsibilities, and we didn't have Family Home Evening or family prayer and scripture study on a regular basis. We did set a good example, though. There was not nearly the level of arguments and strife in our home that both our parents had. We went to the temple, we fulfilled callings in church, we helped them participate in both Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts.

Still, somehow I went so wrong that this child has long-simmering resentment and anger. I didn't understand this child's sensitivity well. Unfortunately, the past is past and there's nothing I can do about it now, but hope that someday my children realize how much of my heart and soul I put into them.

My children do not realize how hard I pray, how much I care, and how fervently I hope that they will all be with us in the life after this. I took, and take, my job as parent very seriously. I know that ultimately, they are responsible for their own actions, and that their father and I are responsible for our own. But oh, how much of my heart they hold in their hands!

On Forgiveness and Redemption

It's been three years since I went to stay with and care for my mom for two weeks, the year she died.

As her incapacity grew, so did her anger and frustration. She was a tormented, angry person at all times, and this only became more marked as she aged.

I have to say that I didn't always treat her with compassion. Partly, I did not understand the true nature of her problems. I have come to the conclusion that her behaviors were textbook borderline personality disorder, and I also suspect she was abused at some point in her childhood. She may have had a measure of ADD as well.

Why none of this was ever diagnosed by a medical professional will always puzzle me. She went to several psychiatrists and psychologists over the years, and saw her last general-practioner a lot. But that is the way it was--and I certainly do not have the whole story, since I didn't speak with these people.

Unfortunately, she took out her frustrations on my sister, my father, and me. I wish I had known about BPD ten years earlier; maybe I could have handled it better, and discussed it with her doctors.

Stuff swims up in my memory, and although I know she loved me, as much as she could, there was so much that was unfair and just plain bad. Try as I might to get rid of it, the influence of my upbringing still comes through in my life and into my relations with friends, colleagues, and family. I'm not a mean person, and I try to be uplifting in all that I do, but a rough childhood is hard to overcome. Living with a mentally ill person, even if it's relatively minor, is a lot like living with an alcoholic.

To this day I am trying to forgive my mother for her domineering, rigid, eccentric beliefs and behaviors. Just as I need to be forgiven of my faults.

What this all boils down to is whether or not I believe in the Atonement of Jesus Christ and its universality. Intellectually, I do. Intellectually, I know it applies to me and my mistakes as well. And I pray for forgiveness, of my own shortcomings and to be able to forgive others' that affect me.

Opposition in All Things

I have evidently gotten the 'flu. I never get a 'flu shot; it's my opinion that healthy people do not need them, and this is the first time I've gotten influenza in years.

It's had me down for four days now. But how much of my inertia is laziness, and how much is just feeling lousy? For I love having an excuse to do absolutely nothing. I haven't been out of the house since Saturday, and today is Wednesday.

Presuming it's the actual illness, I think I would be doing more stuff if I really felt well. I haven't been to exercise class since Saturday (and I could feel this coming on even then) and I frankly don't miss it, but I certainly would be going if I thought I could do it.

I have done a few dishes, cleaned the bathroom, changed the bed, and done laundry. Wes went to the grocery store. He cooked a frozen pizza last night, and got takeout the night before. Oh, and I've made one sock out of self-striping yarn, an interesting process!

We need to experience sickness to appreciate health. We need to be sad sometimes, to fail, and to experience loss. That way, the good times are all the better.

So, although it's no fun feeling lousy, I am grateful for the time to reflect on health. I have been a very healthy person and I appreciate that. Still, I want to feel better soon.

Relevancy and Redundancy

In the British TV show "One Foot in the Grave," the main character, Victor Meldrew, an older man, is forcibly retired from his job-"redundant," they call it.

I am beginning to understand the reason older people seem to endlessly discuss their past triumphs. They seek to remain relevant in a world that, increasingly, does not need them. I think that is why a lot of people do not retire--they want to feel a part of things.

So what is my function now? I feel increasingly irrelevant. Sure, I do things for my husband and family, but they do not necessarily need me as they once did. I no longer work outside the home, either. What function do I fulfill?

Every week when I talk to my dad, we have the same conversation. He bitterly decries the downfall of society--a place he no longer recognizes. My sister got him some kind of an electronic tablet for Christmas--he asked her for a manual to learn how to use it. There is no such thing as a manual--you go online for tutorials. This, from the man who dragged his boss, kicking and screaming, into the 20th century when he convinced him to buy a computer back in the late sixties. I suppose I am headed for a similar fate.

Fortunately, the Church has a program for older people to keep on serving. I can do volunteer work, help those in my ward, and work in the Temple. I hope those things fill the hollow place where my mother-busy life once was.

Love Thy Neighbor

On Christmas we attended church with our son, Ethan, and his (pregnant) wife, Sarah. They attend a rather small branch in, of all places, Orem, Utah. There are a few older people in the branch, and a gray-haired gentleman spoke that day.

It's rare that a particular comment really sticks with me, but one thing this man said did: "The Lord is just as interested in the happiness and well-being of your neighbors as he is in yours."

Wow.

Now, I do try to love my neighbors. I believe benevolence, kindness, and tolerance are due to every one of God's children, unless he or she is threatening my life or someone else's. But we human beings tend to be pretty self-centered. I'm pretty wrapped up in my own problems and concerns, happiness being one of them. Still, I think I am generally loving toward my fellow man; I certainly believe in working to make others feel loved and valued. Even so, this succinct statement jolted me into really putting myself into others' shoes. I'm not really so special that the Lord loves me better than anyone else, even my neighbors with cranky tendencies.

Lifting our eyes from our own navels is something we need to do now and then. As we study the life of the prophet George Albert Smith this year, who truly embodied love for one's fellow men, I hope to increase my service and love toward others.