My children are my most important priority.
Get some exercise every day.
Jamie is my top priority, in matters big or small.
“Yes” comes right away; “no” never comes.
Get some work done every day.
Whenever possible, choose vegetables.
I know as much as most people.
I’m in a hurry.
Try to attend any party or event to which I’m invited.
My parents are almost always right.
Ubiquity is the new exclusivity.
If I’m not sure whether to include some text, cut it out.
Never eat hors d’oeuvres, and never eat anything at a children’s party.
When making a choice about what to do, choose work.
Looking at my True Rules showed me something. Several of them were difficult to balance. How could my kids, Jamie, and work all be top priorities? Also, I was pretty sure that Jamie operated under the rule of “Try to skip as many social events as possible.” That explained certain ongoing marital debates.
Some of my True Rules were very helpful, such as one I learned from my mother: “The things that go wrong often make the best memories.” This is very comforting and very true. For example, my mother put a tremendous amount of work into planning Jamie’s and my wedding—right down to the wedding-weekend informational letter decorated with cows and ruby slippers to symbolize Kansas City—and our wedding was gorgeous and perfect in every way, except for one single, tiny detail: the misspelling of the composer Haydn’s name as “Hayden” in the order of ser vices. And sure enough, now I love remembering that superfluous “e.” Somehow it reminds me of all the time my mother and I spent together planning the wedding (she did most of the work); the one flaw throws the loveliness of the whole wedding into focus. I remember reading that the Shakers deliberately introduced a mistake into the things they made, to show that man shouldn’t aspire to the perfection of God. Flawed can be more perfect than perfection.
On the other hand, some of my True Rules were unhelpful. “I’m in a hurry” ran through my head dozens of times each day—not always a constructive thought. I worked to change that rule to “I have plenty of time for the things that are important to me.” By questioning my True Rules instead of applying them unthinkingly, I could make sure I applied them only when they’d guide me to decisions that reflected my true priorities.
Was I the only one who thought this way? When I asked my friends if they had True Rules, they understood exactly what I was talking about, and they had their own examples:
Always say hello.
What would my mother do?
Don’t get up in the 5:00’s or go to sleep in the 8:00’s (A.M. or P.M.).
Down with boredom.
Change is good.
First things first (example: eat before a job interview).
Choose the bigger life.
Buy anything you want at the grocery store; cooking is always cheaper than eating out.
Things have a way of turning out for the best.
Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.
I picked up a very helpful True Rule from my sister. Elizabeth told me, “People succeed in groups.”
As a TV writer in Los Angeles, she works in a notoriously competitive, jealous industry. Jamie and I had coined a phrase, “the funny feeling,” to describe the uncomfortable mixture of competitiveness and self-doubt that we feel when a peer scores a major success. When a friend of Elizabeth’s cowrote the screenplay of a movie that was a box-office hit, I asked her, “Does it give you the funny feeling that your pal had such a huge success?”
She answered, “Well, maybe a bit, but I remind myself that ‘ People succeed in groups.’ It’s great for him to have a big success, and his success is also likely to help me to be successful.”
By contrast, I have a friend who described her brother as having a zero-sum attitude toward good fortune: if something good happens to someone else, he feels as if something good is less likely to happen to him. As a result, he’s never happy for anyone else.
Now, it’s debatable whether it’s true that people succeed in groups. I happen to think it is true—but whether or not it’s objectively true, it’s a True Rule that makes a person much happier. Of course, pure magnanimity would be more admirable, but telling yourself that “People succeed in groups” helps when you’re feeling small-minded.
Jamie has a very helpful True Rule: he says, “The first thing isn’t the right thing.” So when a friend doesn’t get the job he wanted or wasn’t able to buy the apartment she bid on, Jamie says, “The first thing isn’t the right thing—wait and see, you’ll be glad in the end that this didn’t work out.” Again, the point isn’t whether this True Rule is factually true (I recognize that his precept has the “Why do you always find a lost object in the very last place you look?” kind of logical flaw), but that it’s a way of thinking that boosts happiness.
Gathering True Rules was a fun exercise, and it was useful, because as I questioned my True Rules, I became far more aware when I applied them. By mindfully deciding how to act in line with my values instead of mindlessly applying my rules, I was better able to make the decisions that supported my happiness.
STIMULATE THE MIND IN NEW WAYS.
As I looked for ways to become more mindful, I realized that using my brain in unfamiliar ways would enhance my experience of the present moment and my awareness of myself. I came up with several strategies.
First, I posted sticky notes around the apartment to remind me of the frame of mind I wished to cultivate. The note on my laptop reads, “Focused and observant.” The bedroom note reads, “Quiet mind.” After I put a note in the master bathroom that read, “Tender and lighthearted,” Jamie crossed it out and wrote, “Light and flaky”—I had to laugh. The note in my office reads, “Enthusiastic and creative.” I also switched on the “Breezy Singer” bluebird that I’d bought in May so that the goofy birdsong would make me mindful of thoughts of gratitude. A blog reader adopted a similar strategy to stay mindful.
* * *
Every day, I type passwords into programs and computers too many times to count. I don’t save my passwords on the computer but am a compulsive email-checker. So a multitude of times a day, I type the same thing over and over and over.
And one day, I realize that what I use for my password gets ingrained in me, due to constant repetition. Like a mantra. Let’s say my password is “tennis” (I play tennis, by the way), and although I do not think about tennis on purpose all the time, I eventually realized that it’s my favourite activity, it’s what I put a lot of time and effort on, it’s what I do most outside of work.
I later changed my passwords to a goal I’ve been working on, or an achievement I want. They become a constant reminder of my goals, my dreams, of what I want to achieve. It’s basically the same idea as surrounding yourself with reminders of your aims, your dreams. Or repeating positive thoughts in your mind.
* * *
Next I decided to try hypnosis as a different route to cultivate my mind. A friend is “super-suggestible,” and her crazy stories about what she’d done under hypnosis had piqued my interest. My first act for October was to take a train to Old Greenwich, Connecticut, to meet Peter, my yoga instructor’s cousin and a hypnotist.
I wasn’t sure what I thought about hypnotism. Proponents argue that the hypnotic state, with its concentration, boosted relaxation, and increased suggestibility, brings heightened focus and responsiveness to instructions, so hypnosis helps people break bad habits and imprint new patterns on their minds. Or it might be, I speculated, that posthypnotic change was due to the “Hawthorne effect” I’d experienced in January (studying a behavior can lead to its alteration) or the “placebo effect” (treatment works because it’s expected to work). Nevertheless, whatever the particular mechanism involved, hypnosis sounded worth a try.
As I got into Peter’s car in Old Greenwich, I realized that I h
adn’t done much research on him. It felt a bit odd to be off in some small town in Connecticut, getting into a stranger’s car, and being driven to his office in a small apartment in a residential building. Fortunately for me, Peter was legitimate.
First he led me through a series of relaxation exercises; then we talked about the list of aims he’d asked me to bring. I’d included goals small and large—everything from eliminating nighttime snacking to expressing daily gratitude. Then came the actual “hypnosis.” First Peter asked me to imagine myself gradually becoming heavier, tracing numbers with my eyes, visualizing my left hand rising into the air (my hand didn’t move an inch). Then he slowly instructed me on the behavior that I would change.
When I feel myself feeling snappish, I’ll remind myself to lighten up. I can make my points more effectively with humor and tenderness than with irritation.
When I feel myself getting annoyed because someone is giving me bad ser vice—a pharmacist, a nurse, a clerk, etc.—I’ll establish a friendly, cooperative tone. I’ll remember to cut people slack.
As I turn to my computer or sit down to eat or walk down the street, I’ll feel happy and grateful for my health, for loving my work so much, for having such a great family, for having such a comfortable life—and from this derive a feeling of lightheartedness, enthusiasm, and tenderness.
When I’m listening to other people speak, I will listen intently, so that I follow up their comments, laugh at their jokes, engage deeply. No more interrupting or waiting impatiently for my turn.
I’ll stop overusing the phrases “you know” and “like” and slang. When I hear myself talking that way, I’ll take a deep breath, slow down my speech, and choose my words more carefully.
After dinner, I’ll turn out the lights in the kitchen and not return. No snacking, no picking at one thing or another. When I’m hungry, I will reach for fresh fruit and vegetables.
He counted backward and suggested that I’d wake up feeling “refreshed.” The whole instruction took about twenty minutes, and Peter had recorded it on an old-fashioned cassette tape. “Listen to this tape each day,” he instructed. “You should be relaxed, attentive, and not sleepy—before bed is the worst time to do it.”
“Does it really work?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“I’ve seen extraordinary results,” he assured me.
I dug out my old Walkman and bought an extra pair of AA batteries. I listened to the tape each day, and, as instructed, each time I heard it, I imagined myself acting according to the goals I’d set.
Jamie enjoyed making fun of me; he thought the entire exercise was ridiculous. He made a lot of jokes of the “What’s going to happen if I tell you to quack like a duck?” variety. It was easy to laugh off his teasing, but I got a bit discouraged. I’d hoped to find hypnosis an easy, passive shortcut to self-improvement, but it was a struggle to concentrate on the tape.
But I did my best, and I do think it helped. For example, one day I felt enraged because after I had spent about five hours putting together an online photo book on Shutterfly, when I logged into my account to complete the finishing touches, it was gone. All I found was “Empty Folder.” I was ready to yell, but as I dialed customer ser vice, I heard a soft voice in my ear: “I’ll establish a friendly, cooperative tone.” And I did. (Of course, it helped that the file popped back into existence before too long.) I also stopped eating brown sugar out of the jar. Gross, but something that I did do quite frequently. To me, the effectiveness of hypnosis seemed less a result of hypnotic suggestibility and more a result of mindfulness. My hypnosis tape made me more aware of my thoughts and actions, and I was able to change them through a sort of mental practice. But that was fine, as long as it worked.
For my next experiment, I decided to try laughter yoga. Founded by an Indian doctor, this combination of yoga and laughter has spread rapidly around the world, and I kept running into references to it as a happiness-inducing activity. Laughter yoga combines clapping, chanting, breathing, and stretching exercises drawn from yoga to calm the mind and the body, and the simulated laughter provoked by the exercises often turns into real laughter.
One joy of living in New York City is that everything is on offer. I easily located a laughter yoga class near my apartment and showed up one Tuesday evening in the basement conference room of a physical therapy office. Twelve of us were led through exercises of yoga breathing and simulated laughter. We did the lion exercise, the ho-ho-ho ha-ha-ha exercise, the cry-laugh exercise, and several others, and I could tell that many other practitioners were really feeling a boost in mood. Two people, in particular, collapsed in fits of real laughter. Not me. The leader was kind and knowledgeable, the other people were pleasant, and the exercises seemed purposeful, but all I felt was a horrible self-consciousness.
As I’d walked into the class, I’d vowed that I’d try it at least three times, but by the time I left, I decided that, as much as folks praised laughter yoga and as valuable as novelty and challenge were to happiness, and even though an exercise in mindful laughter sounded like an excellent idea, laughter yoga wasn’t for me.
I moved on to drawing. I hadn’t done any drawing or painting since high school, so taking a drawing class would awaken a part of my mind that had long lain dormant. Also, if cultivating mindfulness meant striving to develop nonjudgmental awareness, I suspected that drawing would be a good challenge: it would be hard not to judge my (nonexistent) drawing skill.
I’d read about a “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain” class that claimed to be able to change the way in which people processed visual information so anyone could learn to draw. Perfect. I figured that, as with laughter yoga, I’d be able to find a “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain” class in Manhattan, and sure enough, the class was offered by the program’s principal New York instructor, right in his own apartment in SoHo. I “indulged in a modest splurge,” signed up, and for five days took the subway downtown for a day that started at 9:30 A.M. and ended at 5:30 P.M.
Novelty and challenge bring big boosts in happiness. Unfortunately, novelty and challenge also bring exhaustion and frustration. During the class, I felt intimidated, defensive, and hostile—at times almost panicky with anxiety. I felt drained each night, and my back hurt. I’m not sure why it was so stressful, but trying to follow the instructor’s directions, squint, measure against my upheld thumb, and draw a straight line on a diagonal, was physically and even emotionally taxing. One person in our little class had a kind of breakdown and quit after three days. Yet it was also tremendously gratifying to learn something new—to partake of the atmosphere of growth.
I drew this self-portrait on the first day of class. Later, when I showed it to a friend, she said, “Come on, admit it. Didn’t you do a bad job on purpose, to make any progress you made look more dramatic?” Actually, nope. This was my best effort.
I drew this self-portrait on the last day of class. My instructor helped me with all the hard parts, and it doesn’t actually resemble me very much, but it does look like a portrait of a person.
Drawing exercised an unaccustomed part of my brain, but apart from that, just the fact that I was taking a class boosted my mindfulness. Being in a different neighborhood at an unusual time of day heightened my awareness of my surroundings; New York City is so beautiful, so endlessly compelling. The rhythm of the day was very different from my typical schedule. I enjoyed meeting new people. Plus—the class worked! I drew my hand, I drew a chair, I drew a self-portrait that, although it didn’t look much like me, did look like an actual person.
The drawing class was a good illustration of one of my Secrets of Adulthood: “Happiness doesn’t always make you feel happy.” Activities that contribute to long-term happiness don’t always make me feel good in the short term; in fact they’re sometimes downright unpleasant.
From drawing, I turned to music—another dormant part of my mind. According to research, listening to music is one of the quickest, simplest ways to boost mood and energy and
to induce a particular mood. Music stimulates the parts of the brain that trigger happiness, and it can relax the body—in fact, studies show that listening to a patient’s choice of music during medical procedures can lower the patient’s heart rate, blood pressure, and anxiety level.
Nevertheless, one of the things that I’ve accepted about myself, as part of “Being Gretchen,” is that I don’t have much appreciation for music. I wish I enjoyed music more, but I don’t. Every once in a while, though, I fixate on a song I really love—recently I went through an obsession with the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Under the Bridge.”
The other day, while writing in a coffee shop, I overheard a song that I love but had forgotten about: Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You.” I went home, loaded it onto my iPod, and listened to it that night while I was cleaning my office. This song flooded me with tender feelings for Jamie. Yes, we have gone through the hard times and the good! Yes, I have to praise him like I should! This would have been a good activity for February, the month of marriage.
I thought again about Jung playing with blocks to recapture the passionate engagement of his boyhood. When I was little, I used to dance around the room to my favorite music. I was too young to read, so I asked my mother to mark the record of The Nutcracker Suite so I’d be able to find it. But I stopped dancing when I got older. Maybe I should try dancing around the room again.