Living Happiness

“Listen, I don’t know how to break this to you. But … your blog sucks.” These were the words I heard this week when I put forth my blog for some honest criticism. And they were not much different from some earlier ones I’d heard a few days before in my online classroom: “Prof. C is the worst teacher ever! I hate this class!”

“Oh, what’s the use,” I thought to myself and proceeded to sulk through the private entrance into my very own deluxe pity party, replete with an orchestra of the world’s tiniest, whiniest violins whinging in the corner.

“Why do I even bother,” I questioned myself as I poured myself a glass of Defeat and helped myself to a plate of Injured Pride. “Why knock myself out when this is the kind of thanks I get?” And off I wandered, over to another corner of the room from whence I could enjoy my beggar’s meal in silence.

Please notice that in the above scenario, the first words I shared with you were words I said I had “heard.” This is crucial for you to understand because, the fact is, these were not actually the words that were spoken to me.

The words actually spoken to me were words that went along the lines of “I’m sure your blog is nice but I simply can’t read it for the dark background and all the colors everywhere” and “This course was far too challenging for ten weeks. Please lengthen it,” respectively.

You should also know that these words also came sandwiched in the middle of a lot of praise: “I love this post!” “I really enjoy your blog!” “This is the best online class I’ve taken with this university!” “Prof. C is the best thing about this course!”

But what did I do right away? I did what a lot of us do and immediately honed in on the negative, grabbed it like a rabid dog with a bone and, for a good couple of days, have refused to let go … even if there was no meat on it to begin with.

Sadly, while I let myself suffer through a night of CG’s Worst Hits, sucking on bones at Casa Feel Sorry for Myself, I missed out on an altogether different kind of party just next door. A party that was rocking. A party with all kinds of cool folks. A party with much more sustaining food than the crow I was forcing down. And the craziest thing of all about it? That party was thrown in my honor.

Don’t we all do this from time to time? We hear things that are not said.

Perhaps we blow them out of proportion. Or we simply refuse to acknowledge all of the powerful, wonderful, positive things that are practically being shouted at us. … And we suffer for it. A self-imposed suffering, which is the worst kind really, because we have no one to blame for the lashes on our backs but ourselves … and we’ve refused the soothing balm of praise and goodwill so happily being extended to us. Ah, what fools we can be!

I am presenting this story to you today because I am willing to gladly offer myself up as a cautionary tale.

Today when you are faced with doubt or criticism from others, don’t do like I did and immediately skulk off to your own private pity party. Instead, keep these things in perspective. Acknowledge to yourself (and even to others) the things you are doing right, and then go next door to the party that is You. It’ll be a lot of fun! Just the thing to cheer you up!

I hope this post encouraged you today. Please feel free to leave any comments you have on the post.

***You are also welcome to post any comments or suggestions about the blog. I am actively considering some BIG changes in the near future to a white background and a different layout. If there are certain things you like about the blog that you want to see remain, please let me know. I also welcome any suggestions you have for future changes.***

Thank you, dear readers, and Happy Friday!

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Photo credit: Evil Erin

Yesterday morning dawned a bright warm day here in Crete, and I set off on my own little mini-adventure. I was ready. I was set. All I needed was to go.

For weeks I’d been eyeing a well-worn path that runs up a hillside and out of sight. G and I pass by it every time we drive down into town. It winds up the side of the hill and (surely, in my mind) winds back down again the other side. Which is exactly what I wanted to confirm when I set off yesterday morning. I was excited and armed with water, my towel, my journal and a pen. Woohoo! Here we go.

I had worked out in my mind that after following the path up and round this hill, I would find myself in this gloriously peaceful clearing with sheep and goats grazing, olive trees olive-ing, and mountains gleaming off in the distance. It would be my own personal Sound of Music gone Cretan! I might even sing!

Instead, I found myself at the top of the hill, sallying forth into a glade of beehives with not a sheep or goat in sight. Thankfully, I had the wherewithal to recognize all the gazillion humming boxes for what they were a good few yards before I actually walked right smack into them. But this definitely meant that my primo, number one choice of seating location was out of the question … unless I wanted to suddenly go native and try to discover any natural abilities I may have as a beekeeper. There were no olive trees either, by the way. The only part of this fantasy that came true was the mountains really, and they weren’t exactly gleaming, as a big cloud bank had swarmed up from the south and west and covered most of the tops of them … and the bottoms were disguised in a filmy haze. The most assurance I had that they were actually there was the fact that I’d seen them there the day before … and every other day since I’ve moved to Crete.

Not to be deterred, however, I simply trailed down one of the little side paths that others had obviously worn before me, hoping perhaps that one of these led to a little spot of Zen. The first trail, though, led to a steep drop that forced me to turn back around and walk back UPHILL the way I had come. The next little trail, likewise, led into a full on army of ants who had commandeered the path and were busy hiking themselves up and down it in full vigor. Can I also just mention that these ants were HUGE?! So again, back up the path I went and found a little rock stool that apparently someone had created there for just such an occasion as this. “Finally!” I thought and got ready to get down to the business of being still.

I had been at this stillness for about ten seconds, though, when I heard it: the unmistakeable sounds of a jackhammer … or many … emanating from somewhere below. Then it stopped. “Ah,” I thought, “peace and quiet, at last.” And then jumped when the jackhammer started jackhammering again. Which it did. In approximately seven-second intervals for the next fifteen minutes that I sat there.

“I can’t believe this,” I inwardly grumbled. “I come all the way up here for peace and quiet and this is what I get.” And I spent another five minutes trying to figure out where that jackhammering sound had been in the thirty-five other minutes it had taken for me to walk from my house to here because, I swear it’s true, I hadn’t heard it!

Finally, with curiosity disappointingly sated and with nerves undeniably jangled, I took back up my water, towel, journal, and pen and made my way back home … where it was blissfully quiet.

So why do I tell all this to you today? Because I learned a couple of lessons along the way that I thought you might like to hear.

1. It is in the silence that we can most hear the noise. The paradox of yesterday’s hillside experience for me is that I went seeking solitude and instead found more noise. And while on a physical and literal level there was nothing I could do to quiet the noise down, this is not the case when the silence we are seeking is of a more spiritual sort. Many of us in some way or another try to meditate or to have a few moments of quiet each day, but as anyone who has meditated for years will tell you, it’s precisely when you hunker down and get still that all the craziness in your mind and soul just erupts: a veritable cacophony of sound bursts forth in your head. And it’s up to you to tame those beasts. This phenomenon isn’t a bad thing. It alerts us to the noise we’ve surrounded ourselves with every day but been deaf to because of all of the other sounds around us. So the next time this happens to you. Don’t panic. Know that it’s normal. It’s one of the reasons why we meditate. And take heart that, at least in your case, you can get the jackhammering to stop.
2. The silence we seek is often found where we started. I left home yesterday looking for an illusory spot of Zen … and did not find it until I came back home. After setting my water, towel, journal, and pen down, I walked out onto the back patio and heard nothing but the sound of birds twittering and wind in the grass. It was peaceful and still. The same is true for us spiritually: the silence that we seek outside of ourselves must inevitably come from within.

Namaste and peace be with you,

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