I finished re-reading Gretchen Ruben’s The Happiness Project book last week: it one-part irks me. I think this part is the atmosphere of striving and self-perfection, which seems counter to my idea of what happiness should be, organic and from within—’happiness is you’ (Holden), happiness is the high seas, calm or stormy, ‘but the depth is still there, unchanged’ (Ricard). If striving for your happiness is self-indulgent, Gretchen counters this by saying that your own happiness is important because it influences the happiness level of others.
The thing I like about the Happiness Project is the message of action and conscious living, rather than passivity and the the days passing by. As my house mate said into my ear the last day I saw him before he returned overseas, Just try.
The book is spirituality-lite, but still, I’ve come back to it. Gretchen finds that being happy isn’t necessarily easy: it takes some energy and drive to ‘do’ the things that will make her happy. But she ‘resolves’ to do things every day. And then she realises that ‘the the bluebird was singing outside my kitchen window’ all along, which is what she knew all along. She’s happier, and she was happy before, but now she knows it.
On the windowsill of the cafe are three pots of lavender flowers just quivering in the breeze.
For my twenty seventh year I have some goals: Mindfulness / writing / health and energy / nature and environment / social / connection / have less + the simple things.
On this day I am at an impasse. I don’t know what I’m doing with myself.
Last week: a few days of desperate housewife, I started to walk in the morning and sew. We went to yoga and the teacher had us doing handstands against the wall. We went to the birthday drinks of my friend’s work colleague. We went to T— and then D.F to collect our race packs, and then to run. I ran or jogged the whole 10km, which is incredible considering I had trouble jogging 1.2km three months ago.
I spoke to my parents on Skype and they said our dog hadn’t settled well the last few nights. They called a vet, who came with his wife. He gave my dog an overdose of anesthetic while my Dad held her, and she died straight away. When we lived near the beach she used to race over the sea grass flats.