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.

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Photo Credit Anna Gay