"Little Things"

"I've got an infatuation with the little things

They make me feel good - Why should I feel bad?" 

 

 I love this song for being exactly what it espouses: it can be one of the 'little things' that make my day.  A simple, bright, upbeat song that cheers me up even as I re-play it in my mind.

 

Since senior year of high school I have kept a running "Happy List" in a now falling apart, coverless notebook.  It began as an attempt to affirm myself and my life in the midst of a difficult situation, as I quoted kind emails friends had sent me, or reveled in old memories.  As it grew I simply added anything that made me happy from "half wet sand that both sounds and feels neat to walk on", "sweet tea", "Sister Hazel" (of course), "the smell after it rains", along with statements of gratitude for amazing friends, family, and experiences.  Now, eight years later I have 1,130 'little things' (and counting!) to be happy about.

It's the little things that make up a life: The wildflowers on a camping trip, the nickname a friend creates out of love, the games I have played in the pool with one of my campers.  In noticing the little things, I can remember how full to the brim I am.

"Used to Run"

I am intrigued by happiness.  Just in the past few months I have read or re-read Gretchen Rubin's "The Happiness Project", Jonathan Haidt's "The Happiness Hypothesis", Marci Shimoff's "Happy for No Reason", Eric Weiner's "The Geography of Bliss", Daniel Gilbert's "Stumbling on Happiness", and many other fabulous books that don't actually have a 'happiness' synonym in the title, but are essentially about the same thing.

I think part of the intrigue comes from how bewildering difficult something so simple seems.  I may know that I would be far happier going for a run or calling up a friend than falling asleep on the couch after work, yet I can say that nearly every afternoon I cozy up with cushions, instead of lacing up my running shoes.

My worst habit is that I inexplicably over-schedule myself almost constantly.  Once again, I know that I am happiest if I have at least two or three evenings a week where the only thing I have planned is reading a good book or playing whist with my boyfriend.  Yet, almost without fail I will agree to meet up with friends, or my ultimate weakness: work.  There was one period last semester that I worked 6 weekends in a row, along with my usual work/school schedule.  Despite the fact that I inevitably end up in tears, when a final, tiny, responsibility, like making my lunch for the next day, breaks me.  I realize that I have burnt myself out again, and for a few days concentrate on taking care of myself and saying no to work or social commitments.  Then, gradually, the cycle starts over, and 2 months later I am crying on my bed again.

 I don't think I am alone in this.  While not everyone works themselves into the ground, imagining it will make them happy, most people seem to have some weakness that they keep returning to.  Some imagine that buying new things, clothes, technology, cars, or fancy beauty enhancers (pick your poison) will bring that elusive happiness, only to come home wondering why they feel empty.  Others think a high-end job, a new romance, or moving to an exotic location will do the trick.  For the spiritual bypassers, every new meditation technique, workshop, or guru seems to promise what they seek.

Don't know what I'm gonna make of this.
Feeling contemplative today.
I'm used to finding solace
In what I bought or what I thought but
That's not going to be satisfactory today. 

Sister Hazel points out that all these happiness strategies can backfire when the solace we are seeking is not found.  In Buddhism, and probably most spiritual traditions, happiness really can only be found 'within'.  Your circumstances actually have very little to do with how happy you can be.  The classic example is that of the Dalai Lama: in exile from his beloved home, he still seems to radiate pure joy of being.  

In "Used to Run" there seems to be determination to figure all this out:

Used to run and try to hide,
Today I'll stay and pick a side

And if I die well least I tried

"One Nation"

One of the things I love so much about Sister Hazel is their decidedly liberal, socially active style.  They sing about issues I believe in.  "One Nation" is one of my favorites; it can be read as commentary on racism, sexism, any "ism" really.  Simply because I think that the message is powerful and beautiful (and a bit tongue in cheek as well!) I am going to post the full lyrics for this piece:

When you were born you didn't know
You thought we were the same
You know we walked the same - we talked the same
Although you never knew my name
But you were told when we were young
That I was not the same
"You know he's not the same - he's not the same!"
And then you never asked my name...

I say won't you have a lovely day
And then you come back telling me to go to hell

But it's One Nation Indivisible
One Nation Indivisible
One Nation Indivisible - oh my God it's irresistible
One Nation Indivisible

Well a baby is a baby A man he is a man
You know he tries the same - he cries the same
And then you know he dies the same
But when I ask in disbelief
And they say "just because!"
You know I have to state - we learn to hate
And man you know I can't relate...!

 

I believe children are born full of love, willing to be open to anyone who comes their way.  It is only the way they are taught, both by their families and by society at large, that causes them to learn to hate.   

"Will Not Follow"

Every summer since I was 16 (with the exception of two mind-blowing and wonderful summers spent in Iowa) I have worked at a day camp for people with disabilities.  Though my own role there has morphed, adding new responsibilities, and changing expectations, the campers remind me of the joy of simple moments, the magic in every day experiences.  We went to a car wash a few weeks ago to manually hose down the ever-dirty bus.  On my own, a car wash is a chore that just needs to be done.  With the campers, it was a pure adventure of excitement and delight.  Three young campers and I stood on a small platform, nearly level with the roof of the bus, as one of my co-workers sprayed the water, artificially colored pink and blue.  As she worked, much of the water came bursting towards towards us, and all the campers shrieked and giggled as they got wet.  Another boy sneaked off to the automatic car wash, because one of his greatest joys in life is giving thumbs-up to the drivers who dare to go through.  When the automatic wash had no customers he waited impatiently, and when one finally drove up, he cheered. 

That same camper cannot go through a tunnel on the road without demanding, loudly, that the driver honk.  As soon as he hears the first, "BEEP BEEP", he bursts into paroxysms of laughter.  There is no way to be in the same vicinity and not feel pure, unadulterated delight.  I have begun to look forward to tunnels and car washes even when I am alone, because my campers have reminded me of just how fabulous those basic things can be.

Yet finding that pure joy in simple moments is not always easy when I don't have an enthusiastic side kick reminding me of the excitement of seeing a train, or the fun in hearing a truck honk its horn.  I easily become wrapped up in worry about the future, fixating on memories from the past, and too lost in thought to see the joy all around me. 

Tomorrow dawn it lights the way for me,
Down a road that goes on and on And on and on and on ...
Just survivin' it ain't the way to be.
Tried it once and it took it's toll on me.

He hesitated, never acted in the now.
I never waited, wiped the sweat off of my brow.
They congregated so I looked at them and bowed.
And I'll have my way, I'll have my way,
And never turn around.

I wonder if Sister Hazel is speaking to the same doldrums I can find myself mired in.  Trying so hard to survive can take its toll when worry and fear take away from the beauty in the present moment.  I don't think it is possible to laugh till your stomach hurts as you go through a tunnel and to feel anxiety at the same time.  I feel empathy for the "he" who "hesitated, never acted in the now".  It is so easy to become swallowed by responsibilities and demands.  I often worry if I am making the right decisions, struggling with my choices and my plans.  My campers teach me, however, that all I need is here in the present moment.  One afternoon spent washing a bus can dissolve all fear.  One ride through a tunnel can re-invigorate even the gloomiest of days.