I noticed again this morning how the forest has turned from emerald to jade, a sign of the leaves’ preparation for the coming grand farewell. So soon? Ah, yes. Here and there, I spot yellow leaves dancing with the green, a trial red leaf fallen to the ground, and vines tinged crimson climbing up the trees. But today, as I drove around a bend, a sea of gold tumbled down to the edge of the road, splashing summer all over my face. I licked the sunshine, warm as honey, from my lips and its sweet taste lingered all the way home as I drove through a tunnel of jade August trees.
You have to know where she is, the way the bittersweet vines drape themselves around her, the way she blends with the lush green neighbors and all. Otherwise you might walk right on by, never noticing how glossy her leaves, how sharp and deeply green. To miss such a mystical being at the height of her summer peak would be a loss. Come, my friend, I’ll show you.
I’d noticed a red-tinged leaf here and there on the vines over the past couple weeks and the first flowering of goldenrod along the roadside. I pretended they were anomalies and ignored them as best I could. But today the hints of summer’s end were undeniable. The trees are beginning to turn. I imagine them in their crimsons and golds beneath an autumn sky and smile in anticipation of the coming splendor. Yet summer’s warmth is wrapping me in its comfort and green fragrance, and inside me I hear something cry, “Don’t go! Don’t go! Don’t go!”
Walk through the world with compassion. Whether it shows or not, all of us are damaged goods. Train your gaze to fall more on the good than the injury. Butterflies still fly with broken wings, still offer their gifts to the world. So can you. So can I. Did you know that some butterflies drink tears? It’s true. Proof that the Yes is made of love.
Think peace. It will change you. Let it float through your mind as a soft, gentle breeze. Think hope. Let it rise up like the first mists of dawn. It will lift your heart. Think kindness. Let it flow from your eyes, touching all that you see. Kindness will change you. Think forgiveness. Think grace. Walk through the world whispering thank you, whispering Yes. Watch as it all transforms.
Sweet little babies, I see you there lining the edge of my garden with your blossoms no bigger than my pinkie nail. I see you, rollicking with laughter just because there is sun and the fun of beaming for yet another day. And yet you beam, I’ve noticed, even when there’s rain. I forgot your name years ago, when I first tucked you in the ground. Since then I’ve seen you weather frost and drought and snow. I think it’s your joy that does it. Would you laugh even more if I told you that now I fondly address you as“Teach?”
A few weeks back, I challenged you to rate your happiness level on a scale of 1-10. Remember?
Since then, we looked at the choices that genuinely happy people make and I invited you to make those choices, too.
The first one was to decide that yes, you truly wanted to live a life in which you felt contented, capable, and centered—our working definition of “happy.”
The second choice was to decide to dedicate yourself to being happy, to make it your intention, and to practice—before you got out of bed in the morning— imagining yourself being happy as you carried out the activities of the day ahead.
The third step was to accept that you and you alone are accountable for your happiness, that you have to give up blaming anyone or anything else for its lack in your life.
Then, last week, I invited you to identify what kinds of things contributed to your happiness, to create a personal “happy list” of things that brought you contentment, satisfaction, or joy.
Today we’re going to talk about “centralizing” your happiness. Grab your “happy list,” or, if you didn’t make one, have some fun: Take a few minutes to jot down everything you can think of that you enjoy, then come back.
Got your list? Good. Read it over and see if there’s anything else you’d like to add. Now go over the list and mark the things you already enjoy fairly often in your life. Those are the things you have already “centralized.” You’ve made them important enough to make time for them.
Now look at the things that you didn’t check, and ask yourself, “What’s keeping me from doing some of these more? How can I add a couple things?”
That’s an important question, by the way. What is keeping you from doing more of the things that let you feel happy? Is your answer the truth? Or is it an excuse you’re accepting from yourself?
What would you have to do in order to have more of those things you enjoy in your life? What if you did it? How could you start experiencing more of those things, or parts of them, in your life right now?
Give yourself some time to mull it over, to figure out a way to enrich your life with more of the things that bring you joy.
People figure out ways even when they thought they didn’t have the time, or health, or funds, or freedom.
Start by imagining tucking more happiness in your pockets. How would it feel? How much energy would it add to your life? Then keep imagining it, over and over, and over. Imagining it rewires you; it creates new possibilities; it unveils opportunities and ignites new ideas. Once the image becomes real to you, surprising doors open.
Happiness isn’t an accidental phenomenon. It blossoms when you nurture its seeds. Putting the things that you enjoy front and center in your life is the way you water those seeds and give them light.
If you think your circumstances are preventing you from making your life a thriving happiness garden, stay tuned. We’ll deal with ways to overcome the seemingly insurmountable obstacles next week.
In the meantime, go over your list again and pick a few things to centralize in your life right now. Make the time. Make the effort. You deserve it.
Clouds were clearing before I got to the lake, the light returning after a long rain. Mine was the only car in the parking lot. Not a soul was in sight. Only this broad lake mirroring sky and the curves of hills, and the washed summer air and a sky brushed with watercolor clouds. I stood in the damp sand a long while breathing it, everything else gone. Only this. Not even me.
A month ago, only slow trickles of water flowed over these rocks. Now, cascades! All sparkly and bright, sending invisible stars to land on your eyelids and face once you get close enough. Summer peaks, luxuriant, fragrant, lush, the kind you dream about, the way you dream about heaven.
Noon in the deep woods is remarkably silent. A few crows call. Insects quietly buzz. Beyond that, the only sound is the whispering of the trees, and that fills the air completely, like an incessant prayer. You must walk softly, stepping with a careful foot lest you snap a twig and startle the atmosphere. Even then, the silence forgives and continues, enveloping you, accepting you, even in your lumbering, as one of its own.
