Few pleasures, I reflected, had the simplicity of a lovely scent. As I rushed through the kitchen, I could pause for a moment to inhale the sharp, sweet smell of a grapefruit; it didn’t cost anything, didn’t require anyone else’s cooperation, didn’t have any calories, and didn’t take any planning or time to enjoy. It was a quick hit of an innocent indulgence. Also, I used scent as a cue to experience the experience—to be alive to the present moment, and to my memories. How I wish I could smell again the baked, woody, spicy fragrance of the attic of my parents’ old house.
On a less elevated note, at the same time that I wanted to appreciate good smells more, I looked for ways to eliminate bad odors. Our dishwasher had a funny smell; time to add more Jet-Dry. Our garbage can often had a bad smell; I sprayed it with Pure Soap. And, although ordering a bottle of Demeter’s Wet Garden was more enjoyable than running an errand, it was definitely time to replace my running shoes.
ASK FOR A KNOCK, GIVE A KNOCK
“Embrace good smells” was a resolution aimed at helping me tune in to a bodily pleasure in my everyday routine. But in addition to adding more feeling good, I wanted to eliminate some feeling bad.
I’d noticed that I often spoke harshly when Jamie, Eliza, or Eleanor interrupted me while I was reading or working. I hated being wrenched out of a thought or delayed in the middle of a task. In particular, I tended to “talk in a mean voice” (as Eliza put it) when Eliza or Eleanor came into my office when I was working. Instead of responding nicely, I snarled, which made everyone feel bad.
At the neighborhood library where I often worked, or at the various coffee shops I haunted, I had a delicious feeling of solitude and absorption, because it’s not being alone that matters, it’s not being interrupted.
As a person who dislikes being interrupted, I’m lucky to work by myself; whenever I’ve worked in an office, interruptions were constant. Research suggests that a person may need at least fifteen minutes to regain focus after even a quick break in concentration, and when people are interrupted, they work faster to make up for lost time, and this hurrying makes them feel frustrated and harried.
I thought of Saint Thérèse’s example. To maintain her composure in the face of constant interruption, she reminded herself, “For the love of God and my Sisters (so charitable toward me) I take care to appear happy and especially to be so.” So how could I appear happy, and more important, to be so, while being interrupted by my family?
One of my Twelve Personal Commandments is to “Identify the problem.” I’m often surprised by how effective this is. Instead of thoughtlessly accepting a situation, I ask myself, “What’s the problem?” and often, by forcing myself to understand the exact nature of the problem, I identify a solution.
I’d been snapping at my daughters when they came into my office for a couple of years, when finally I asked myself, “What’s the problem?”
“When my daughters interrupt me when I’m writing in my office, I snap at them.”
“Why do I snap?”
“Because I get annoyed when my concentration is broken without warning.”
“Why don’t I tell them not to come to my office?”
“I like to have them come to my office. I just react badly, for a moment, when they break my focus.”
And suddenly I saw the solution, beautiful in its simplicity. The girls should knock! (A mother more vigilant about manners surely would have insisted that they knock from the start, but announcing that rule had never before crossed my mind.) I decided to propose my strategy the next morning. Yes, it meant another questionable attempt to assign a resolution to someone else, but I wanted to give this a try.
“Listen,” I proposed to them at breakfast, “I know it bothers you when I talk to you in a mean voice when you come up to my office to talk to me. And I’m sorry that I do it, but I can’t seem to stop. And I really do like it when you come to talk to me. So let’s try something: When you want to talk to me, knock first. Maybe that will help me react in a different way.”
“What if we forget?” they asked in unison.
“Just try to remember. Let’s see if it makes a difference.”
To my surprise, both girls—and even Jamie—adopted the habit immediately. Eleanor, in particular, was intrigued with this innovation. Sometimes after she’d knocked and I sang out in honeyed tones, “Come in!” she’d ask hopefully, “Were you going to say something in a mean voice if I didn’t knock?”
Getting this knock made an astonishing difference in my day. Somehow, that brief warning and act of courtesy allowed me to change the way I answered, which gave all of us a happiness boost.
I thought more about interruptions and knocking when I learned about “bids.” It struck me that perhaps Jamie needed a different kind of knock from me.
In his book The Relationship Cure, relationship expert John Gottman emphasizes the importance of responding to “bids”; when someone makes an attempt to connect with a touch, question, gesture, comment, or look, we should answer with a comment, a laugh, or some kind of acknowledgment. To be attentive and playful is best; to be nonresponsive, critical, or sarcastic is hurtful.
His studies suggested that the more Jamie and I responded to each other’s bids for attention, the stronger our marriage would be. Happily married people make more bids per hour than do less happily married people, and they ignore far fewer bids. Happily married men ignore wives’ bids 19 percent of the time; wives, 14 percent of the time. In unhappy marriages, husbands ignore wives’ bids 82 percent of the time; wives, 50 percent of the time. Studies suggest that when parents don’t acknowledge children’s bids, the children may have trouble developing social skills, suffer academically, and have more health problems.
People may respond positively or negatively to a bid, or they may respond with what Gottman calls a “turning away,” when a person ignores a bid altogether. A turning away can take the form of a nonresponse (“How was work today?” met with no response) or an unrelated response (“How was work today?” met with “Did you call the plumber?”). Gottman points out that although sometimes people intentionally ignore a bid, more often, they don’t respond because they’re preoccupied: reading, watching TV, sending an email, hurrying to get something done. Nevertheless, the person making the failed bid feels diminished and frustrated when the bid is ignored.
I was very familiar with this situation. Jamie often ignores my bids. Not out of a desire to be intentionally rude, but just … because. Too often, he didn’t respond when I made a comment, and as the studies predicted, his nonresponses made me feel ignored and angry.
I’d talked to Jamie about this behavior before I’d known about the terminology of “bids.” Usually I’d try to ignore it for a while, then explode at some point. “It’s so rude not to answer—” “Please don’t ignore what I’m saying—.” I knew he wasn’t intentionally ignoring my bids, and he’d improved over time, but still, his habit got on my nerves.
I fought the urge to chase him around the apartment while reading bits aloud from the Gottman book. I thought, yet again, of my Sixth Splendid Truth: The only person I can change is myself. What could I do to change my habits that would help Jamie to change his habits?
Getting a knock had helped me control my responses, so I decided to see if I could give Jamie a metaphorical “knock” to help him be more responsive. When I wanted him to respond thoughtfully to a particular bid, I told him so outright.
“Hey, can you put that down?” I asked, pointing to his phone, the next time I wanted his full attention. “It would help me to talk something over with you.”
“Okay,” he said, continuing to scroll through his messages.
“No, really, I want you to listen.” I reached over and tapped on his phone’s screen (my version of a knock).
He put down his phone and assumed a patient expression. “Sure, what’s up?”
“Someone wrote something very dismissive on my blog—not vicious, but critical.”
“And …
?”
“It’s not a big deal, I know, but it has me feeling very agitated.”
“What did this person say?”
“I’ll read it to you,” I said, opening my laptop.
I was given Gretchen Rubin’s book “The Happiness Project.” I am afraid I am going to be harsh. It seems to me that she just wants to read or write ALL day, and she keeps inventing projects that give her a valid reason to do so while calling it work. These projects allow her to draw attention to herself and invite praise, and are done at the expense of her immediate family, with whom she readily admits she is often angry or resentful because they interrupt her “work.” She also thinks a conversation is boring when it is not about her. For me, most of the book was stating the obvious, and her whole blog is immature and irritating, but then I am 56 years old!
“That’s it?” Jamie asked. He looked amused. “About a million people have written nice things on your blog. Just ignore it.”
“Well, the negativity bias means that negative interactions affect us much more strongly than positive interactions. I know I shouldn’t let one person’s comments upset me, but I feel under attack.”
“Well, remember, this is what you want. You want to put your ideas out there in public and hear people’s reactions. Not everyone is going to like what you do.”
“You’re right,” I admitted, brightening up at this view of the situation. “It’s true, I always remind myself: A strong voice repels as well as attracts.”
“Well, you know what camp this person is from.”
“Right!” I looked back at the paragraph. “So you don’t find me immature and irritating?”
“Not most of the time.” He smiled, and flipped my laptop shut. “Really. Don’t worry about it.”
Our conversation put my mind at ease—mostly. And because I’d warned Jamie that the issue was important to me, not just a typical background conversation, he’d responded more appropriately.
At the same time, as I started to focus on the issue of Jamie’s response to my bids, I had to admit that I could do a much better job of acknowledging his bids. Murmuring “Mmhh, mmhh …” with my eyes glued to the page wasn’t the way to foster intimacy and affection.
CELEBRATE HOLIDAY BREAKFASTS
Over coffee, when a friend asked what I was working on, I gave a quick sketch of some of my happiness-project resolutions related to home.
“What am I leaving out?” I asked. “I’m always looking for suggestions.”
“Pets!” she said. “You should get a dog. Your girls would love it.”
“Well,” I hesitated, “I don’t think that our building permits pets.” The truth is, I didn’t want any pets. Keep it simple. But she was right; studies suggest that pets make people happier and even healthier. Almost 60 percent of American homes include a pet—usually a cat or dog—and pets can have an enormous influence on a household’s atmosphere. Adam, my brother-in-law, received several condolence cards when his cat Paco died.
“Too bad. Then what about meals?” she suggested. “Meals are incredibly important to a happy home life! What are you doing in that area?”
“Meals?” I repeated. “I haven’t thought much about meals.” Food is a critically important part of life, of course, but in truth I couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for meal-related resolutions.
“You really should work on mealtime,” she said. “After all, don’t studies show that when families eat meals together, the kids do better in school, behave better, don’t do drugs, all that? You can’t overlook meals. There must be ways to use them to boost gratitude, bring everyone closer together.”
“You’re right, I’ll give it some thought,” I promised without much conviction. I felt guilty for not being more interested, then I realized—no. This was my happiness project, and I didn’t feel a pressing desire to think about meals.
That’s what I’d decided, until Valentine’s Day reminded me of a wonderful idea for a family mealtime tradition.
For me, one of the most important aspects of home is the celebration of traditions. Family traditions mark time in a happy way and give a sense both of anticipation and continuity. Research shows that traditions, routines, and rituals boost physical and emotional health. And they’re fun.
I love traditions—but I dislike hassle. I could barely keep up with the big traditions we already celebrated (not to mention the demands of ordinary life). For instance, Eleanor’s sixth birthday was in February, and just making the arrangements for her little party absorbed a remarkable amount of energy and time. Was there a way to incorporate more of the fun of traditions, in a way that was meaningful yet painless? I wanted to keep it simple, but not too simple.
Just in time for Valentine’s Day, I recalled a conversation I’d had a year before, when I happened to stop by the house of a friend on February 14. “What’s all this?” I asked as I walked in. Her dining room table was ablaze in pink and red.
“Sorry about the mess! Today’s Valentine’s Day, so we had a holiday breakfast.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, with four kids, so far apart in age, with everyone’s schedule, it’s tough to have a special dinner together. So for minor holidays, I make a holiday breakfast.”
I looked more closely at the table. Her decorations were simple but festive, with heart-shaped placemats, red candles, and some conversation-heart candies.
“What a fantastic idea!” I told her. “I love it!”
She’d seemed a bit defensive about it, but she warmed when she saw my enthusiasm. “It really is fun,” she said. “It’s easy for me to set the table the night before. We’re all together in the morning before school and work. And the kids really love to start the day in a special way.”
“So what do you do, exactly?” I said, looking closely at the table, the better to copy her ideas.
“I get some holiday placemats, flowers, things to decorate the table, nothing fancy. Some candy, some little gifts.” She held up a pad of heart-shaped sticky notes.
“I am going to do this myself,” I told her. “I’m going to copy you, one hundred percent.”
People exhibit a festive spirit in many ways, with special music, decorations, food, tattoos. My mother has glorious collections—Santa Clauses, bunnies, gaily painted birdhouses—and she also decorates to celebrate the seasons, with forsythia in the spring, sunflowers in the summer, squashes in the fall. My mother-in-law sets a beautiful table, complete with imaginative flower arrangements, for every family occasion (my favorite: for my birthday one year, because I rarely eat dessert, she stuck my birthday candles in an array of vegetables). I enjoyed what they did, but I never wanted to do it myself.
Because I always want to keep it simple, and I’m an under-buyer, I used to assume that I lacked a festive spirit. As always, however, it’s a matter of “Being Gretchen.” I don’t like to shop, and I don’t like buying short-lived flowers and plants, and I’m not good at making elaborate arrangements, but even I could handle placemats and a table decoration, and I always love to use food coloring—I could imagine serving an all-green breakfast for St. Patrick’s Day, or red, white, and blue for Fourth of July. I could invent a holiday. Wig Day!
Our conversation had fired my enthusiasm, but I’d never actually planned a holiday breakfast; an entire year had slipped by. Now I had my chance. Early in the morning on February 14, before anyone else got up, I put out heart-shaped paper plates, cut toast into heart shapes and covered the pieces with peanut butter that I’d dyed red, put heart decorations on the window, and scattered some heart-shaped candies around the table.
Eliza got a big kick out of it, but Eleanor didn’t seem too interested (except for the part about eating candy at breakfast). But when we got to school, she told the children and teachers excitedly about the “special breakfast” she’d had, and described in detail everything that I’d done. It had made a bigger impression than I’d thought.
I made a note on my calendar for the week of March 14: “
Remember decorations for St. Patrick’s Day.” That would be my next chance to celebrate a holiday breakfast. This kind of festivity helps make time more memorable; school-day breakfasts blur and disappear, but little celebrations make some days stand out. Also, the major holidays are a lot of work. For someone like me, it was gratifying to celebrate minor holidays in a very manageable way. I can choose the bigger life, by thinking smaller.
JUMP
One of my most useful happiness-boosting strategies was my personal commandment to “Act the way I want to feel.” Over and over, I saw that if I act in a loving way, I feel loving. If I act cheerful, I feel cheerful.
One morning, as I waited outside the door of Eleanor’s kindergarten class, I saw one mother give a little skip as she walked down the hallway, and I was struck by the exuberant charm of that unconscious gesture. My feet, by contrast, rarely left the ground. My exercise featured the stationary bike, the StairMaster, yoga, and weight training. I walked everywhere. I almost never ran up the stairs or hopped over puddles. In an instant, I decided I needed more jumping in my life. To put a spring in my step, literally, I resolved to “Jump” every day.
The allure of jumping shines from the “jump pictures” of Philippe Halsman, the photographer responsible for more than a hundred Life covers. He asked people such as Richard Nixon, Marilyn Monroe, John Steinbeck, and the Duchess of Windsor to jump for their portraits, and it’s exhilarating to look at these photographs.