Living Happiness

There’s a room in our house that hardly anyone ever talks about.  None of my Feng Shui books mention it, even though all their articles assume it.  My Style & Statement book doesn’t mention it, although it takes for granted that I have it. And if you were to look at the blueprint for our house, you wouldn’t be able to find it anywhere.

The strange thing is I know I’m not the only one who has this room, because everyone else I know has it, too.  You have one in your house.  And you – yes, you over there – you’ve got one in your flat.  Even you, Mr. Bedouin, you’re probably packing yours up with the tent every time you head out for the next camp.

This room has a name, though.  I’ve heard it talked about in hush-hush circles, so I’m sure (despite its ephemerality) that it exists. It’s called The Room for Improvement.

I don’t know what yours looks like but my Room for Improvement is strewn with self-help books, fashion magazines, bank statements, old report cards, “sensible” meal plans, and too-small clothes.  In the corner is a shrine to religious texts (the Torah, the Bible, the Koran, the teachings of Buddha) and on the walls are photos of other people’s perfect lives.  The windows look out onto everyone else’s perfectly-mown green grass.

Depending on the day, this room of mine may be the size of a closet or it may be the size of a mansion.  When it’s the size of a closet, I don’t spend too much time here.  But when it’s the size of a mansion, I can wander in and get lost for hours days.

On the days when it’s closet-sized, I don’t mind going in, taking a peek around, and taking out what I need (if anything). But on the days when it’s any bigger than that (often), me going in spells trouble: I am sure to walk out in abject despair.

My Room for Improvement does a really good job of reminding me of all that I’m not … yet.  If only I could do this one more thing or manage this one more that, then I would be okay.  But this room relies on mirages, on the illusion that, just around the next corner, all will be well.  It does so by relying on its concave mirrors that line the walls, fun-house mirrors that distort my efforts and only serve to heighten my anxiety as I look for a way out.  In some ways, this Room for Improvement is more like a Carnival Fun House … only it’s anything but fun and is just one more reason why, when it’s not merely closet-sized, I can get lost in it for hours days.

To be honest, I would be glad to be rid of this Room.  Something tells me that even if it were “officially” mentioned in the Feng Shui books, it would probably be in the section on “What Not To Build” into your home.  And I have a feeling this is true of my style & statement book, as well.

On the other hand, what would I do without this Room that reminds me that there’s something more to strive for, that this isn’t the end of the road?

Would I still strive without this Room?  Would I still keep trekking away on life’s journey?  Or would I just stop and pitch my tent by the roadside, hang some neon lights, and start selling gaudy souvenirs?  Who knows.

It strikes me that maybe its time for a revolution in the architecture of my happiness, that the Room for Improvement doesn’t have to be the Room for Improvement any longer.  But could it be … might it be … a Room for Growth?

Already I feel myself excited about the plans.  Just the look of it will be different: pictures of me on the walls at all of the times where I’ve been most happy, pictures of loved ones and friends who have surrounded me and supported me, cozy sofas for sitting and dreaming, windows that look out onto present joys.  Candles of inspiration burn on side tables, soothing music from the song in my heart plays, and tucked around the room in beautiful, decorative boxes are my dreams, my hopes, my plans – some marked “open now” and others marked “open later.”

When I enter this room, I am reminded of all that I have already achieved, all that I already have, and all that is, therefore, possible.

It doesn’t stress me out, this room, not like the “other one.”  This is a place that I delight to visit, a place where I don’t get lost lose myself.  It is a place that, when I walk out of it, I walk out hopeful instead of hopeless.

The strange thing about this room is that, despite its beauty, I always seem to know, after I’ve been here for a while that I’ve been here long enough, and I stand up, take my leave, and politely reenter my world as I know it.

What about you?

What does/did your Room for Improvement look like?

Are you ready to revolutionize the architecture of your own happiness?

What would/does your Room for Growth look like?

Your thoughts and comments are more than welcome.

Just as you are,

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Photo Credit Anna Gay

Christmas carols proclaim it a time of great rejoicing, seasonal songs deem it “the most wonderful time of the year,” but — amidst all of the general merriment and brouhaha, the spiked eggnog parties and the Chinese gift exchanges — there are many of us who find ourselves asking the question: Is this the hap, happiest season of all?  Really?

At a time where it seems like everyone else is celebrating, where everyone’s life seems picture postcard perfect (and it’s proven to us in the syrupy greetings that coat our mailboxes), I must confess that I have felt like the loneliest person in the world, the one most removed from the joy and celebration happening around me. And I’ve found myself thinking, “If I hear one more cheery ‘Happy Holidays’ or ‘Ho Ho Ho’ I’m going to shove my Christmas tree up someone’s you-know-where.”

It is because of this that I would like to share today’s “A-Ha Space” post with you, written in the full awareness that sometimes Christmas can be the dark, darkest season of all … for many of us.

Please join me at The Calm Space today for my holiday wish for you: A Reason to Celebrate.

Much love,

Photo credit: flickr photo by Walrus87

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A few weeks ago, I was out shopping with my husband for Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations for our home. We had gone to one of the few large department store-ish type places one can find here in Crete, and our patience had been worn steadily away as we’d trolled through the over-full aisles, round the over-stuffed bins, amidst the over-stimulated children. Loud, obnoxiously high-pitched music blasted through the store speakers, so much so and for so long, that by the time we reached the kitchenware aisle, our strand of patience was hanging on by one lone, very short, very fragile thread.

It was around this time that “It” happened.

We had spent about five minutes on this aisle debating over the merits of this or that tablecloth, when we finally made our choice and rounded the corner to begin our slow but deliberate advance toward the cash register when “She” approached.

“She” was the tired, bedraggled, put-upon shop girl who was in charge of keeping kitchen and housewares looking spic and span.

“Excuse me, but you’re not supposed to take the tablecloths out of the bag when you’re looking at them.”

Sensing aggression in her tone, I quickly responded, “We didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” pointing at the nice, neatly packaged tablecloth in our basket and holding up the untidy, un-bagged matching tablecloth she was holding in her hands.

Feeling my heat rise, I answered back with another, “No! We didn’t!”

“But you were on that aisle. I saw you.”

“No, you didn’t see me, because we didn’t open the bag.”

Tempers now fully flaming, she said, “Look, I’m not accusing you of anything, I just …”

“Yes, you did accuse me. You didn’t ‘ask’ me anything. You said I did something I didn’t do,” I cut her off.

And just as quickly as it began, it ended. “She” turned back to straightening her aisle, and hubby and I finally released ourselves from the madness that was that store.

The thing is, this Incident didn’t end for me. For hours afterward I was bothered by a deep regret over the words we’d exchanged and over my loss of temper. Why had I been so defensive? Why did I have to let my emotions get the better of me?

As I fretted over what had happened (fully realizing that what was done was done), I could not deny that the course of action I had taken that afternoon was not the only possible response. In fact, there were a million other ways (well, maybe not a million) I could have responded, and chief amongst those for me was one response in particular – to respond to her needs.

I realized, playing back the scene in my mind, that I had been that shop girl once upon a time. I had been the one working all kinds of messed up hours during the holidays to make ends meet (or to make extra money for gifts or for gas for the drive home to my parents’), when what I really wanted was to be out spending time with my friends … or doing my own Christmas shopping. I had been that tired girl, frustrated with the customers who just didn’t seem to care about anything and left the shelves in a mess of disarray that I had to refold or tidy up, again and again and again … and again. And if not for the way my life had curiously unfolded, I could have been her still.

I realized that when “She” approached me that afternoon, what she was really saying was: “I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I want to go home too, but I can’t. I’m stuck here until my shift finishes, and the last thing I want is for my work to be made harder than it already is.”

And to me, the most adequate response I could have made was: “I can see you’re tired and frustrated. I don’t know who unpacked these tablecloths, but how about I help you get them sorted again?”

When I had this realization, when I saw this conversation as it could have been played out in a new way, I could not avoid the truth that stood so staunchly in my path:

I could have lit her candle but, instead, I had chosen to blow it out.

How often do we do this, though, on a daily basis, without realizing it? How often do we forget that our lives are not just meant to keep our the candles in our own souls alight but to light the candles of those around us too? Sadly, I know that the answer to both of these questions, for me, is “Far too often.”

And so, ever since that Incident a few weeks ago, I have tried to carry this lesson with me as I go through the motions and events of my day. It is the season of the coming of light, after all. A season when what we celebrate (no matter what belief or persuasion) is the overcoming of deep, dark soulless winter by the arrival of light and peace and hope.

We even light candles in a show of this awareness. Passing the light from one to another in a solemn, yet joyful, demonstration that in our cores we understand that this is what the season is all about.

Why not do the same with each other: Can we help someone else’s candle stay alight today? Can we help keep it from going out? Two candles afire with the light of love and life and hope gleam far more brightly than the light of one.

Can we learn the lesson?

Wishing all of you a very holy, magical, joy-full, light-filled season.
Happy Holidays,

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