Happiness Is…

Once, a long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away), I lived with an aunt who had a kitchen chalkboard where we traded off writing a list of our small happinesses. One day it would say, “Happiness is Chinese food.” The next, “Happiness is sleeping in.” And the following, “Happiness is being loved by Jesus.”

(Some of these happinesses were smaller than others.)

Since then, I have continued the tradition, lately, specifically, on Fridays on Instagram, solely because I can. I do this not because I think the pursuit of happiness actually makes us happy, but because I think that it’s important to remember on the hard days that there is joy if we’re willing to look for it.

For me, my Friday counting of gifts is a perspective shifter.

It’s easy to get to the end of the school week and see the many things that went wrong. I can remember how I felt like my energy would be better used by recording myself saying, “FOCUS!” and playing it on repeat. I can recall how frustrating it was to have to micromanage every aspect of the twins’ writing lesson. I can easily recount all the things that went wrong (from a child’s never ending ear infection to the coffee that just wasn’t pulling its weight).

It is easy to look back and see exhaustion and whining and annoyance and unmet expectations. But it’s much more gratifying to train myself to look back and find the small wins worth celebrating, the tiny happinesses tucked away that just make life worth living.

But here’s the thing: finding those happinesses doesn’t negate the challenges we faced. And pursuing those happinesses for their own sake cheapens them. I can’t ignore the hard things in order to chase down the fun or beautiful or engaging. And perhaps I wouldn’t see the lovely if they weren’t set in such direct contrast to the frustrating.

I’m writing this post thinking about small happinesses in the midst of persistent frustrations but also during a time of big griefs. Because, as I remind my kids often, we don’t exist in a vacuum. My own personal celebration of the hummingbird that joins us at meal times exists in the same world as Afghanistan’s tragedy and Haiti’s earthquake and emergency rooms overflowing with Covid patients.

So why do we bother? Perhaps we should go through life raging against the dying of the light, shaking our fist at the injustices of our world, living each day with outrage and fury. There is enough ugliness for that, certainly.

And maybe it’s just my temperament to say that I can’t. I don’t have enough energy for that level of passion. I see the world, and, instead of getting angry, my heart breaks.

I can choose to succumb, or I can light one small candle to push against the darkness.

And my one small candle, its light flickering faintly—insignificant, unimportant, perhaps—is to count the happinesses, to look for good, to see what is still worth celebrating.

Thank God for the warriors, the fighters who do battle in bigger ways, who have the passion and courage and energy to confront the ugliness head on. For me, though, my battle is a quiet counting.

You are always welcome to join me.