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March 11, 2004 - Happiness
My mouth is always getting me into trouble. Most recently it was during a winter walk with a friend of mine. She was complaining about her life….mostly small stuff. A broken dryer, a sloppy partner, the long winter. At one point she literally stopped in the middle of the trail and looked at me.
"I don't think I can ever be happy."
Without thinking, I looked at her and said, "Oh, that's just because you don't want to be."
In an instant, one fewer friend. She didn't talk to me all the way back to the car, didn't talk to me in the car, hasn't talked to me since.
I miss her. And I've been thinking a lot about happiness. And have realized that, aside from my unskillfulness, what I said was true. Happiness is an inside job. A choice. A moral obligation in fact, at least for those of us who desperately want the world to be a better place for everyone. Separate from the people in our lives, or the situations we find ourselves in, finding happiness in the day to day life we've been given is surprisingly, embarrassingly even, simple. Why? Because happiness is found in the small stuff, the surroundings, views, moments, smells and tastes that we completely miss out on when we are too busy listing all the reasons why we aren't happy.
The Buddha instructed all of us to live in joy, in peace. If we decide to follow his instructions three things help: accepting what is; going for simple, and feeding what makes us genuinely happy.
Accepting what is:
While it is true that I continue to wait for a scientific breakthrough that will make me two inches taller (and therefore lithe) through the miracle of drugs, I've learned that accepting what is gives me two gifts. The first is mental room to actually notice what is going on around me. The second is a surprisingly strong appreciation for all of it. My shortness doesn't prevent me from sighing over the blue-purple of the Detroit sky that backs the Buddha statue when we do morning bows. The sweetness of morning chants, the smell of coffee brewing, the sheer cuddliness of my meditation cushion….none of these depends on anything going on in my life externally….not the loss of a good friend, the demands of a tough job, the cold of a child. And these are just the wonders that hit before 7 am. It's amazing that I can even make it through the day with all the sights, sounds, smells, textures lying in wait to thrill and entertain.
Going for the simple
Having lived a half century I now know that every time I've chosen the complicated route, it has made me miserable. A camera I don't understand. Anything but an Apple computer. A foreign car. A murky relationship where the groundrules aren't clear. On the other hand, when I've gone the simple route, it has always brought me great happiness. A point and shoot camera. The Apple. A Subaru with pictures for instructions in the owner's manual. Someone who just plain loves me, chanting and all.
The Te of Piglet by Benjamin Hoff offers is a terrific teaching on simplicity from the Taoist alchemist and herbalist, Ko Hung: "The contented man can be happy with what appears to be useless. He can find worthwhile occupation in forests and mountains. He stays in a small cottage and associates with the simple. He would not exchange his worn clothes for the imperial robes, nor the load on his back for a four-horse carriage. He leaves the jade in the mountain and the pearls in the sea. Wherever he goes, whatever he does, he can be happy --- he knows when to stop. He does not pick the brief-blossoming flower; he does not travel the dangerous road. To him, the ten thousand possessions are dust in the wind. He sings as he travels among the green mountains.
He finds sheltering branches more comforting than red-gated mansions, the plow in his hands more rewarding than the prestige of titles and banners, fresh mountain water more satisfying than the feasts of the wealthy. He acts in true freedom... calm and detached, he is free from all danger, a dragon hidden among men. "(pp. 187-188)
See for yourself: what makes you genuinely happy? Do that. Then add people and experiences if you want to. About a year ago I decided that I am an artist. No big reason. On a fluke I took a five day watercolor class in Maine, and suddenly, art is my life. It helped that the class was limited to a dozen students and that all of the others were art teachers themselves. I went from a three tubes of paint carrying apprentice to a woman obsessed with paper weight and quality hues. One of the side effects of this discovery has been a hunger for learning about the lives of other artists. How did they start? How do they keep going? Biographies fill my bed stand. Artists I admire mix with artists I can't figure out. Gwen John, Emile Nolde, Whistler, Turner, Thomas Kinkade. I've been surprised at how touched I am by all of their stories and while I am nowhere close to Thomas Kinkade in style I appreciate the way he lives out his days. Here is one small example. He loves the sun and he loves books. No matter what, each day after lunch he takes a book outside with him, sits in the sun and reads a chapter. A couple of minutes of pure contentment feeds the rest of his day. Probably more. He is happy.
I love painting. Love it. Since my days head in their own unplanned direction by 9 am every day, I have learned to follow Kinkade's lead. I give myself a set time every day to paint, from 7 am until 8 am five days a week. It is uninterrupted time that, no matter what the painting looks like, offers up surprises, fun, and, somehow, excitement, that brighten the whole rest of the day. No matter what else knocks at the abbey door.
Happiness sits in our laps each day. I toast those who have the courage to take it in their arms and nurture it. We are each helped by their courage.
