The Happiness Complex

Over the past year or so, I've become fascinated by what is considered "positive psychology." I often say we only get one shot at this life, so it is imperative to make the most of it. I don't want to look back and find my years tainted endemically with sour, bitter unhappiness. I want happiness to be the prevailing factor.

Which, truly, is tough for me. Somewhere along the way, I fell into the habit of pinning happiness to the end of success, on scales large and small. I don't think I used to process life events this way; I remember someone telling me once I had the greatest propensity for joy of anyone he had ever known. I took pride in that. Perhaps I had just never had anything negative happen to me, though, at that point in my life. When things became challenging, when I felt those most important had lost faith in me, I gave up. Threw my hands in the air in exasperation. Felt like a failure because didn't meet my expectations, and allowed that to bring me down.

Then I became determined to never fail, because it hurt. And if (heaven forbid) I did? Self flagellate. Berate. You aren't good enough. You aren't good enough to be better. You aren't good enough to pursue the things you want. You, you, you. Place the onus on yourself, because you should be able to control your universe to benefit your own good intentions.

Commence the aim to always succeed. Make yourself more... miserable. Do things... amazing things. Be a parent. Be a wife. Be a mom/wife who swim bike runs her way back into health after having a baby only nine months before. But don't be happy with the process. Don't be happy with who you are along the way. You can always be better, and shouldn't be happy until you are better.

STOP THE MADNESS. Just... effing... stop it. NOW.

I'm hungry. We're all hungry. But what are we hungry for? Are we hungry for happiness? Hungry for success?

Change your approach. In everything.

Over the past year, I've been inundated with videos, books, movies, documentaries... everything media... telling me to make the choice to be happy. From Ann Voskamp to TED talk after TED talk, from the documentary Happy to every single blessed article about meditation, and even sports psychology tidbits... EVERYTHING I'VE READ SAYS TO LET THE OUTCOME GO.

Wait... what? Isn't that the most important thing, the outcome of my efforts? It used to make my brain nearly implode, rethinking how I approach the world and the things I want to do. "Let us not grow weary in doing good..." What is good? Isn't the process good? It shapes the outcome. Why not enjoy it?

We westerners... we let the weather influence how we feel about things. We allow our possessions to tell us who we are and how we feel about ourselves and alter our self-projection upon the world.

I (desperately) want to be a better, happier mother. I recently (recently? heck... this morning...) made the connection that an easy (easy? no... simple... yes.) way to be kinder, to be happier, is to be happy with the process of parenting. I can't perpetually be irritated because I correct the same things every single day. I can't let the process make me grumpy, hard hearted. Change the way my mind fields issues...

I'd always like to be faster on the bike. I'd like to be stronger. I'd like to be a better wife. I'd like to change the world. I'd like to be a better homechef. I'd like to make macarons without fear of the failure that would certainly ensue if I endeavor to make those shifty little cookies with the wonderful reward at the end. Maybe life is like baking macarons?

But what happens when I reach those goals, if I'm not happy with the journey to those goals. Success is a moving target, always escaping onto the horizon. Don't allow the chase to become a mere struggle. Success should be a celebration of happy tinkering, a moment's gratefulness for the moments that led to the culmination. Success is good, and worth striving for, but not at the sacrifice of happiness along the trail.

I had a breakthrough moment yesterday afternoon. I've recently been revisiting running, simply for the sake of running. I don't care how fast I am... I won't ever win any races on foot. But yesterday was a reminder of why I prefer the bike. Running is a cruel mistress. She breaks me, makes me want to puke, in a way the bike just doesn't. So I had a crappy run. I walked a lot at the end... but instead of pouting... instead of beating myself up... I practiced what I've been working so, so hard on. I chose to be happy. I chose to be gentle with myself. I chose to take the circumstances and make them positive. I walked along, enjoying the spring day. I picked flowers on the side of the road and brought them home. I put them in a pretty glass full of water, stretched, and said to myself:

"Self, running isn't your thing anymore. But that doesn't make it not worthwhile. It's fun. It's an adventure. It isn't always going to go well, but make the most of it anyway."

In that moment, I did something new... I chose not to berate myself. Because really, who cares if I had a crappy workout and had to walk? And what's mental self abuse going to accomplish anyway???

But isn't that like life in general? I'm going to have bad days as a parent, as a cyclist, in the gym, in my interactions with other people, as a wife, as a blogger, as a wannabe chef, as a yogi, as a dog owner. I'm going to fail. You're going to fail. But those failures... they don't have to be bad. They don't have to be the defining moments of our daysweeksmonthsyearsLIVES. I always tell Hobbes he can do things with a happy heart and mind or a grumpy one... I need to take my own advice.

Love.

"Love is our resistance..."
          - Resistance, Muse

The world of people have been weighing heavily on me. Each and everyone who chooses to act without love and care to the other inhabitants of this world, on any level. There's too much violence, too much hatred. It overwhelms me some days.

I'm always reminded that we only get one chance; every day, every week, every month, every year of our lives are the only ones we have. There are people whose chances at a healthy, happy life are slim. Some of them are trapped in the bondage of slavery at the hands of oppressors. Some face the tyranny of hunger, while others are the victims of any number of problems related to poverty.

We, here in our comfortable cars and homes... we are the lucky ones. Our developed country has more than it needs, overwhelmingly so. By all standards, we should be happy. We should be the people to choose to put others first.

But what I see every day, all too often, is people who actively opt to put themselves before others, choosing to endanger others on the roads and streets, in the towns and countryside. In the store, at the gas pump. On Facebook, the news. It never stops, this barrage. It's breaking me to watch this brokenness.

I posted about it on Facebook the other night, like I often do. But this time, I got responses that shook me, woke me from my sad slumber. I'm not here to angrily rage against the machine. I'm here to love. If I'm going to make a difference, it will be in the moments I choose to love instead of hate. Because it's far too easy to hate the blind fat catness I see on the faces of people who make the decision not to care about others. Simple to despise the people I pass in the grocery store, and on the street. The driver or dog owner who is negligent toward non-typical road users. When I choose hate instead of love, I am making the same decision I loathe so much in the character of the others.

Hate cultivates hate. Love cultivates love.

I can't let my fear drive me to hatred. It's too much weight for me to bear. It's numb and empty. It's imperative to be what I want others to be. Even when it hurts... but that presumes it will always hurt to make the choice to love the unlovable.

I have to approach this intelligently, to believe people can, indeed, change. Things can get better. There's the oft used, likely misplaced quote by Ghandi about being the change you wish to see in the world. I must be patient. I can't expect an overnight change. Things may never change, but that doesn't make my efforts worthless.

In contrast to the people I see doing the wrong thing, I must remind myself of the excellent things I see people do for one another, the kind things people do for me. The little boys who helped Hobbes up at the gym when they bumped him over playing basketball. The lady who let me go in front of her at the grocery store when I was dealing with a yelling three year old. The people who drive safely. The ones who are out there making a difference in the lives of those who've had no chance before.

Those people, those lovers, they must inform my worldview, how I operate, and what I assume about others. How I interact with those around me. How I conduct myself. Things can get better. They will.

Thanks to those who encouraged me the other night.

Lenten Time.

The last time I actually took the time to sit down and type, I was whining.

Shut the piehole, right? Things are never so bad as we think, typically, but sometimes things are worse than we'd like to admit. I was in a bad, bad place. I was suffering from severe malnutrition. My hair was falling out. I couldn't heal from small, inconsequential injuries, workouts, and serious injuries. My skin looked terrible. I was depressed. All this and more, because I wasn't providing my body enough nutritional value, particularly protein and vitamin B-12, among what I can only imagine as a corollary of missing vitamins and minerals.

Check in a few weeks later, and I'm so much better. I did stop the vegetarian diet. It works well for some people... I dig. I glanced at my food diary from the past year, and I saw a disturbing trend: I have never consumed enough protein. Likely not in my entire adult life. I've never been particularly carnivorous, and tended to favor lower calorie vegetables and fruits. And cookies... and cake...

So here I am now, head clearing from the fog that plagued me for months. I feel like there's one thing holding me back: excessive consumption of simple carbohydrates. I feel like an addict lately, with no self control. Plow through half a bag of Starburst jelly beans, gorge myself on GirlScout cookies and Lucky Charms the next night. THIS HAS TO STOP.

And stop here, it does. For Lent, I'm giving up sweets, limiting my alcohol and conventional bread intake... not because I necessarily want to lose weight. I need a clear head, heart, soul. It's imperative that I give up things that distract me from my goals, and this is a good place to start.

Here's to good health :)