(This post is dedicated to my daughter Alex. To this day, she has never met a stray dog or cat she hasn’t wanted to adopt. Her love affair with animals started long before a setter named Scarlett entered our lives one January 6th back in the mid-1990s. Scarlett’s story is special, but then, what pet’s story isn’t? She’s been gone from this world a long time now, yet she continues to live in the hearts of our family. RIP, Angel Dog.)
In the past, the twelve days following Christmas used to be among my all-time favorite times of the year. While other families untangled the Christmas lights to return to the attic by the new year, the Rices kept them lit. Only on January 6—the Epiphany, the date that represents when the Magi reached the baby Jesus with their gifts--did we end the observation of our extended holiday season.
That was a lifetime ago, though. I was raising young children and running a home-based business. True, I was busy, busy, busy, and I didn’t exactly have control of my own schedule. But I wasn’t yet tied to a nine-to-five have-to-be-in-the-office-NOW gig. That would come later, and it would provide me with empathy for the people who decorate for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving and put it all away on or before January 1st if at all possible. (Correction: It would turn me into one of those people.)
So for those of you who like to take down the yule lights before stepping out for your New Year’s Eve celebration, I feel ya. I also have three things to say:
Number One: Don’t bid farewell to 2019 too quickly.
You don’t want to wish away the potential wonders of the Betwixt. In this instance, I’m using Betwixt to refer to the specific period between Christmas and New Year. In the generic sense, Betwixt is an old word used back before the 12th century. It actually means between.
To be fair, the Norwegians’ already coined a name for these days on the calendar between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve. It’s called Romjul. It’s not just a name, though. It’s more like a purpose, which is for people to slow down and catch their breath, cozy up in the pj’s for a needed reset, and enjoy loved ones without all the planning and frenzy of the previous days. Romjul is an unspoken invitation to stop fretting and to spend more time relaxing and reflecting. So do it.
Number Two: Do set your sites on hopes for 2020.
Yeah, yeah, you might think I’m talking out of both sides of my mouth, and what can I say? I’m good at it. Yet in truth, I do believe we can look forward to tomorrow without wishing away today. I’m trying extra hard to practice that as I await the upcoming new year. You see, I retire from the nine-to-five in January 2020. My last day of traditional work is December 30, 2019. You might say I am GIDDY.
In some ways, the days till retirement have crawled. I haven’t loved every moment of my day job, but I’ve mostly been proud of my work. Its biggest drawback? The time it’s taken. Time away from pursuing other to-do’s and being with people and in places by choice. My choice. Yet suddenly here I am. My time will soon be my own. OMGosh, that takes my breath and leaves me with a sense of tremendous freedom.
Yet with freedom comes a sense of onus.
My bucket list is robust. What if I dive into my next chapter with so much gusto that I crash and burn before February 1? Then again, if I ease in too slowly, I could become a sloth within the same time frame. First-world problems, you say? Why, yes, I believe you’re right.
So in first-world fashion (one that allows for much rumination), I’m nixing my more traditional new year’s happiness to-do list with something more abstract. Until I define my AWESOME new normal (which could require extending my current Betwixt), here’s a more-and-less list to get the new year started:
Number Three: Don’t ever—and that means never—lose your sense of wonder.
Like many, I’ve struggled through my share of difficult holidays. I’m grateful for friends and a husband who talked me off the ledge during the years of “some assembly required.” It’s gotten easier as the Rice children have become adults. I don’t miss much about the days when Rice and I hit the Black Friday sales early, Santa wish lists in hand, headed in separate directions to cover more stores without the aid of an iPhone or cyber sales.
What do I miss from those days? The sense of steadfast wonder that came with them. Sure, Christmas is often more fun when children (and then grandchildren) are front and center. Yet sometimes, like during the Betwixt, merely reflecting on past blessings can bring back that sense of wonder. For me, this happens when I recall the Angel Dog. My recollection of her follows.
Alex was in third grade when she asked for a dog. Not just any dog, mind you. An Irish setter. Where she came up with that breed, I don’t know. You don’t see a whole lot of Irish setters here in Georgia. Gently, I told her no, a dog wasn’t in the cards for us just then. I didn’t dare tell her that a house with three kiddos was all that I could handle. I did remind her that her sister was afraid of dogs, but Alex assured me that Quinn would get used to a dog if we just had one. “I’m sorry, Alex,” I said. “I don’t think we can pull it off just now.” “That’s okay, Mom,” Alex replied. “I’ll ask Santa.” Yup, it was that time of year. I was up to my eyeballs in stress, and before I could stop myself, I blurted, “We need to have a talk about Santa.” (Note: Moving forward, the story is true to the best of my recollection. There might be another version out there, depending on who’s retelling it. I can’t be 100% certain.) If my memory is correct, I recovered quickly and well. “The thing about Santa is this,” I said. “He likes to check in with parents before he decides on kids’ gifts. Just in case there are situations like ours.” Alex furrowed her brow in suspicion but didn’t argue. A few seconds later, her face relaxed and she had a comeback. “I’ll just pray to God for a dog, Mom,” she said. “You’re always saying that God answers prayers.” Oy! This kid. She kept my brain working overtime. “Yes, God answers prayers.” I sighed. “But sometimes his answer is ‘not now.’” Alex didn’t press it, and I survived the season, hanging on by my fingernails but, thankfully, without the arrival of a dog. Until Epiphany. On January 6th, I kid you not, a bag-of-bones of a dog showed up on the railroad ties separating our yard from our neighbor’s. The dog appeared frail and gray around the eyes. Her head shook some as she bared her teeth, but I swear it was a smile and not a sneer. Did I mention, she was an Irish setter? In a Hallmark movie, I’d have tied a bow around the dog’s neck and brought her into her new home. But Rice was traveling, Quinn was frightened, and I wasn’t truly sure of the dog’s health or temperament. Of course it was raining, and when Alex asked to build a dog shelter on the patio with a box and an umbrella, how could I say no? (I was already worried I was hell-bound, given the Santa and God talks we’d had earlier that season.) As you’ve probably surmised, Scarlett joined our family on the cusp of that Epiphany so many years ago. She lived in the garage for months. (Don’t feel too bad for her, though. She had her own couch out there, and she also got plenty of walks and treats and company.) From time to time, Alex would ask Quinn if Scarlett could move inside. “Maybe when I’m five,” Quinn would tell her. Quinn turned five on the Fourth of July. Freaked out by the cul-de-sac fireworks, she and I snuck inside to rock in the quiet of the living room. Not surprisingly, Scarlett wasn’t happy about the fireworks either. We must’ve left the garage door partly ajar, because the next thing I knew, Scarlett’s nose was nudging at my leg. And Quinn’s. “I think I’m going to be ill,” Quinn said, when she realized what was happening. (Who knows where she heard that phrase, but, yes, she really said it.) “Do you want me to put Scarlett back out?” I asked her. She was quiet for a moment. “No,” she finally said. “She can stay inside.” The Angel Dog moved into our home that day. She made us her family for the next several years until she succumbed to cancer. Today she lives on, if only in our hearts.
Some may consider this story one about God’s love and faithfulness. Others may pooh-pooh it as a sappy tale of chance or coincidence. I say, why not just embrace the magic when it comes our way?
May we never outgrow our sense of wonder. Cheers ~ J
(NOTE: This post is dedicated to Agnes F. Brown, who will retire on 9/30/19 after 20-plus years of work in public service. The lady is classic, mindful, and caring. I have no doubt she seeks—and finds—happiness each and every day. But Agnes is also an achiever, and I sense a frustration in her for not having an answer to a well-meaning question many have recently asked: “What’s next?” So I say this to you, Agnes, with respect and love: “Stop with all the achieving already! Take time to breathe. Regroup. Say ‘NO!’ And when asked ‘What’s next?’ maybe reply with a smile and a shrug. After all, isn’t taking time to enjoy our own happiness one of the biggest achievements of all?”)
As a lad in school, the late John Lennon was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. Lennon wrote down, ‘Happy.’ “You don’t understand the assignment,” he was told. “No,” he countered, “you don’t understand life.” Whether the exchange between Lennon and a teacher really occurred as outlined above, who knows? I imagine it could have, and I smile at the thought of the bad boy Beatle saying such a roguish thing.
In the Midwestern protestant pocket of my youth, happiness wasn’t pursued. It came to us, so we were told, as a result of serving others with a joyful heart, turning the other cheek, and understanding that it is better to give than to receive. (Oh, yeah, that worked.)
The pursuit of happiness these days is less frowned upon, not perceived so much as self-centered and shallow as once upon a time. The pursuit of happiness is a US Constitutional right, after all. Maybe even a divine gift. For those reasons and more, people in this day and age are on a quest for what Lennon wanted to be sixty-plus years ago: Happy.
The most recent World Happiness Report, published in March 2019, ranked 156 countries by how happy their citizens perceive themselves to be. And you know what? In this year’s report—the 12th ever produced by the United Nations Sustainable Development Solutions Network in partnership with the Ernesto Illy Foundation—the U.S. came in at #19.
Nineteen! That means the residents of 18 other countries in the world perceive themselves to be happier than those of us here in the U.S.
(A few writer’s notes here...just in case you’re wondering. Note1: The Scandinavian countries kicked some big-time booty with their high happiness rankings. Note2: Yes, I do take this report with a grain of salt. Note3: I still find it interesting.)
So what are some of the possible reasons so many of us see ourselves as less than happy? For starters, how about worsening health conditions, declining social trust, cynicism toward government, addiction, behavioral health issues...and don’t get me started on social media. (I mean, does your life ever look as rich and splendid and pulled together as the filtered goings-on of your Instagram friends?)
Because so many of us in the U.S. are unhappy, guess what? Happiness continues to be BIG BUSINESS. A recent search on Google for “happiness influencers” turned up a list of 7,142 individuals. Goodreads shares a list of 288 of the best happiness book titles. BOOK RIOT lists 100 must-read books about happiness.
It doesn’t stop with programs and books and blogs. A search for happiness products on the web produced items such as supplements, planners and journals, adult coloring books, essential oils, light therapy lamps, meditations, plants, luxurious bedsheets, sex toys, bath bombs and salts, self-improvement regimens...the list goes on.
Hey, who am I to complain about people making money trying to help others feel happier? I myself am guilty of feeding the happiness consumption craze. In fact, if I were more of an entrepreneur than an artsy fart, I might even try to monetize it myself. I mean, what’s wrong with that? As long as you’re doing it legally and ethically, of course.
For now, though, my words are coming to you at no cost and without a blast of citations regarding the science and evidence-based research behind them. (You get what you pay for, no?)
Contemplating my own level of happiness, I happen to believe what many psychologists say: Happiness is 50% determined by genetics. (You do the research on proving this true or false. I’m too busy damning my ancestors for an overdose of melancholy that made it into my gene pool and surfaces when least appropriate.)
That said, if each of us comes to this earth with our own predisposition toward happiness, are we each doomed to be a complete cackling hyena or serious Sol? I doubt that. But neither do we have to deny our underlying nature. Some of us are just more naturally joyful.
To an extent, we are what we are, right? And I’ve already confessed that I sometimes wear an unflattering shade of melancholy. But I’ve also mentioned finding a list of 7,142 individuals out there known as “happiness influencers”, remember? Well, I happen to follow one, Gretchen Rubin, who, with her sister Elizabeth Craft, hosts a free podcast called “Happier with Gretchen Rubin.” And now that I've shamelessly plugged them (for no reason other than simply choosing to do so), please allow me to share a happiness hack passed along by these sage sisters.
In late 2017, Gretchen and Elizabeth issued a challenge to their listeners. In lieu of the usual new-year’s resolutions so many of us make and break, they suggested we identify—and write down—18 things to accomplish during 2018 that would add to our level of happiness.
For some reason, I found the “Eighteen for ‘18” challenge appealing. In my mind, this shed a positive light (enhancing happiness) on a practice that had repeatedly delivered me negative results (failing at self-improvement). I appreciated the variety of the tasks—some ongoing, some one-time deals.
So how did I do? Well, remember, I’m someone who really hates to keep score! Yet in spite of that, I hung in through 2018, kept some and changed some up for 2019, and am contemplating a repeat once more in 2020. So perhaps that’s telling in itself?
Whatcha think?
If you find the challenge above silly, so be it. But if something about it appeals, why not consider making a short list for the remainder of 2019? Better yet, start mapping out your own “Twenty for ‘20” happiness goals for next year.
(Pssssst, Agnes, you can do this exercise again, but only if you’d like. And maybe ease up and don’t worry about making all your goals so SMART?)
Remember, all: Never chase happiness. Seek it. Find it. Relish it. And if you’re so inclined, drop me a line and let me know what it looks like to you.
Cheers! Jan
I gave up on making new year’s resolutions some time ago. However, I heard about a re-framing of this practice while listening to a podcast called “Happier.” The podcast hosts, Gretchen Rubin and Elizabeth Craft, suggested that listeners identify—and write down—18 things to accomplish during 2018 that would add to their level of happiness? Here are a few examples they shared:
paint my toenails once a month
fold laundry the day it comes out of the dryer
read a political biography
I’m not exactly sure why, but I found this “Eighteen for 18” challenge just different enough from the typical resolution deal that I’ve decided to try it. I appreciate the variety of the tasks—some ongoing, some one-time deals to check off once done. Perhaps I like the concept of happiness being the end result. Maybe I like the idea of doing something for my personal self-improvement that doesn’t seem like a copycat version of my office SMART goals. You know what I’m talking about: “By June 30, lose 20 pounds by eating healthier and exercising more.” Enough of that!
So here you have ’em: my “Eighteen for ‘18”:
Pray more.
Appreciate Rice more.
Purge two rooms/areas of junk.
Paint family room wood paneling (or have someone else do it).
Visit one place requiring a plane ride.
Learn a new phone app.
Walk more.
Shave legs on clean sheets day.
Plan more [joy!] for pre- and actual retirement.
Joy ~ Sass ~ Grace more.
Do more art and piano time.
Organize on-line photos—mine and those shared with me.
Do a one-on-one date with each of my adult kiddos.
Visit Emory Voice Clinic.
Touch the ocean.
Water plants/garden better.
Take blog public.
Let “it” [work…unimportant “things”] go more.
Today I’m working on #17. Why? I created the Joy ~ Sass ~ Grace blogsite back in 2012, Sheer terror has kept me from taking it public. Until now. I’m hoping that putting my blog “out there” will add to my level of happiness. Not because loads of people are likely to love it, or read it…or even see it. Rather, I’ve found that, oddly, sometimes pushing beyond my comfort zone actually does increase my level of happiness. Sometimes!
So happy ’18 to you all! I challenge you to give “Eighteen for ’18” your own twist. And let me know how it goes. Cheers! J
