Marcia’s Musings: If You Want to Be Happy for the Rest of Your Life
/ GL AdminsI walked out the front door of my Florida home and stepped into a sky-blue-bright day blazing with heat only to find a chicken turtle clinging to the edge of my paver-patterned driveway. As I approached, thinking how much it looked like a painted turtle our children once raised, it appeared more lethargic than frightened. It blinked and blinked its weary eyes rather than retreating into its moss-draped shell even when I sat down quite close to it. Having so recently lost my cat, Gracie, I felt my chest tighten with fear and grief. I certainly did not want to lose this creature. “It’s suffering,” I thought.
I moved away to give it a wide berth and simply observed. I realized it had either climbed up the steep bank of Spring Creek, which meanders behind the homes across the serene street from me, and crossed it in hopes of finding the lake behind me. Or it sought to find its way to the creek having left the lake behind. Which way should I move it, I wondered? Content to watch and wait, the chicken turtle would get to its feet and lumber toward my front stairs only to become confused. That was when I realized it wanted to get to the lake yet couldn’t find an opening in the six-plex of row houses that I call home.
Time and again, it poked, crawled, and then rested as it sought a path to freedom – and water. After about an hour of effort in the unrelenting sun, it stopped and dropped its head into the grass wearily, its long, slender neck heaving and its shell bone dry. Dehydration was setting it; it had been too long out of the water. Racing into the garage, I grabbed a big bucket, filled it from the hose, and gentle splashed water over its shell, head, and neck, fearing the worst. Then I filled Gracie’s old water bowl and set it in front of turtle whose life seemed to be ebbing. Lo and behold, it gently lifted its head and submerged it in the bowl for a few minutes and then backed away looking much revived.
That’s it! I thought. I leaned over and carefully picked the calm creature up with my hands gently holding either side of it 12-inch shell, the dripping moss on its back soft and smooth. I cornered my building firmly grasping the compliant creature, surprised both by how light it felt and how calm it remained. When we reached the lake some 50 yards away, I placed it in front of the reeds on the shore right below my lanai and sat down next to it. It remained near me for a full five minutes, blinking and nodding at me as if to say, “Thanks ever so much. I’m not afraid of you.” Then, with what felt like one last glance, it crawled through the reeds, slipped into the water, and disappeared below the surface, home and free at last.
It hit me then, contentment moving through my body like a warm current. This, I thought, is what happiness feels like.
For the sixth consecutive year, Finland is the happiest country in the world, though the Finns themselves describe what they feel more as contentment.
Here are reasons Finns say they are happy:
They spend a lot of time in nature. My time with that turtle caused contentment – happiness – to flow within me.
They practice SISU: This means strength of will or perseverance, especially in the cold, dark Finish winters, something we Minnesotans appreciate, and it applies generally to many situations.
They trust others, and they eschew conspiracy theories. This supports better mental health.
They are open about how they are really feeling. Giving a genuinely honest answer to "How are you?" is valued in Finland.
They don't humblebrag. They have a saying, "The one who has happiness should hide it." Translation, according to the reporting: "Press pause on that slightly ‘gloaty’ IG post." Living our happiness is better for our happiness and our health than humblebragging about it, especially on social media.
They aim for contentment. They explain this in English as, according to the stories about being on top of the happiness heap again, "Happiness is found not by endlessly searching but by living." Happiness doesn't always have to be a soaring sense of bliss. Instead, there's value in enjoying what you have, once the basic needs of life are met, and then fostering a feeling of contentment.
Happiness, contentment – these are subjective words so feel your way there. The Finns must be on to something.
Here's to your happiness and contentment – may you have it in abundance.
Earlier this month, I led a training in Yoga Nidra. My heart cracked open. Emotions and feelings flowed. What a gift for us all, students and teachers alike. In sharing our inner life and our hearts’ deepest longings, we find equality.
Hey, God, are you there? It’s me, Marcia. Usually, as I sit on my cushion, I listen for and to you. As you know, sometimes, I call you God, other times Universe. Other times, Goddess. In a long life with you, I learned you hear and answer to many names. I know you’re there.
Today, I pay tribute to a man who learned to live in “the world of and”, who embraced change, a meaningful space in the philosophy of yoga, particularly in the therapeutic approach of Yoga Nidra, and in Buddhist psychology.
At this time of the year, we often feel tender: tender toward other people, tender toward the natural world and all its creatures, tender toward life itself, tender perhaps even toward ourselves. Images both sweet, like a dog and cat sleeping together, and horrifying, like the pain and suffering borne by innocent civilians on both sides of a war, elicit tender thoughts.
The headline for this soul-baring sounds faintly geopolitical and sinister. It’s as though Hercule Poirot stands on deck to solve a great mystery. This situation requires no famous investigator, however. What is unfolding is the normal flow of the sweet river of life and a happy, joyous bend in it. I can’t wait to tell you this long-held secret.
This thought plagues me in a time of impersonality. We sit in offices in our private homes, alone or on endless Zoom meetings that I overhear from my home’s lower level when my children or friends stay over. Oh, yes, they see faces. The sharing, though, is all business…
When the hammer fell, or more accurately the surgeon’s scalpel, and a non-life-threatening complication ensued along with an extended rest at-home, legs-elevated time, I faced down this question: As I age, how will I fill my time and engage my mind and body?
With Barbie, there emerged a more complicated relationship. She didn’t look like anything I witnessed in the strong flesh-and-blood women around me, and it’s only by some miracle that I didn’t start to body-shame myself. I know many others did in the years before we talked about concepts like the male gaze and how it distorts the way women view themselves. This sets impossible standards that maim and warp and cause real illnesses in both men and women and their relationships, however they come together. Especially in the first decade of Barbie’s existence, her white, white world left out everyone else, which matched reality, until the great movements of the late ‘60s and ‘70s caused Mattel, Barbie’s corporate owner, to succumb to the pressure to “show dolls more like me and my daughter”. I’ll get back to that in a minute.
I want to be as truthful with you as I am able. Acknowledging my anger, exploring its roots, and deciding where and when to act feels good…
I’m happy. Right now, I can’t believe how often I am happy. The best news? I no longer wonder how long this joy will last or how to extend it. I’ve come to see that when I’m happy, I can just be in that happy place for however long it lasts.
The lingering effects of this concussion force the Energizer Bunny to slow down and remind me of my True Self which aways craved quiet and stillness. I nap, listen to books, and more deeply embrace internal practices that support my healing.
I walked out the front door of my Florida home, stepping into a sky-blue-bright day blazing with heat, only to find a chicken turtle clinging to the edge of my paver-patterned driveway. As I approached, thinking how much it looked like a painted turtle our children once raised, it appeared more lethargic than frightened.
Of all the paired human emotions, love and loss cause the most challenge for me. As an only child raised and nurtured in the embrace of two warm and closely knit families, I dreaded the passage of time with its inevitable march toward separation caused by death….
Inner wars and conflicts never pass without struggle. Whether the focus is on love, relationship, food, exercise, money, or anything else, once the inner struggle begins, we easily bog down, mired in the mud of indecision and inaction. Ask me: I’m expert on this one.
Trusting your heart demands not only deep listening but also deep feeling. You cannot think your way to discovering your heart’s deepest longing. You must hear and feel it and then give it voice, clearly and compassionately….
I started to examine how the repetitive, mundane tasks of life – whether working on the farm with all it entailed or, later, attending to my own home with its demands for care and payments – felt in my body. The more I focused on the chore, the more aware I became of the emotions and sensations emerging.
This is a song of life. Like most songs, and all stories of life, it contains both joy and sadness, and it begins like this.
The yoga Vedic teaching to speak the sweet truth – Satyaṃ brūyāt priyaṃ brūyāt in Sanskrit – invites us to use exquisite subtlety in communicating the truth which virtually demands that we pause before speaking. The teaching goes on:
Floating when depleted proves to be a strong Rx, a natural one, too. You don’t need to be on an ocean- or river-bound ship to do it, either. Floating, I’ve come to realize, comes in many versions and leads to a more- restive state of mind…
In her cheerful, quiet room, I sit as close to her hospital bed as possible, my hand on her bony shoulder, and turn my full attention to her. Even as she sleeps, I resist the phone….
All day long, I’d roamed the combative realm of divided attention: sneaking in an answer to a text or two while in Zoom meetings; answering phone calls from colleagues and friends while writing emails or editing articles, and cramming some non-descript food into my hungry body while reading business documents. I felt depleted and alienated. Split attention takes a toll on us as we now well know, giving lie to decades of training people how to multi-task.
There comes the time when we take deep stock of our lives. If we’re living a life grounded in the present and in the body, we will have taken stock frequently throughout the entire arc of our lives. What does it mean to take deep stock? When do we know it’s time to do so? How do we do it?
Sweating often communicates the state of our emotional well-being. How many times has a friend, partner, child, spouse said to you, “I broke out into a cold sweat”? How many times have you experienced the cold sweats yourself?
The feeling of happiness moved throughout my body like liquid gold, starting at my heart center. I understood what happiness feels like for me. Because I stayed present the thought was no longer just a thought – it morphed into a physical sensation….
When grief comes calling, it rarely arrives alone. Sometimes guilt accompanies it. It’s complicated and many-layered. Sometimes relief does – the innate gratitude that the loved one no longer suffers – and inadvertently triggers more guilt….
It wasn’t always easy to recognize positive outcomes in the age of the pandemic, given the brain’s preference for negative thinking. Especially in the darkest days our community faced together, all I focused on was absorbing the shock of the “unseen enemy” and its relentless assault…
My mother’s younger brother died a few weeks ago at age 88. One minute he sat chatting from his chair with his daughter, seeing her on Facetime, and the next he slumped over quietly. He left this world on the long, last exhale in an instant without noticeable stress or pain. In what certainly stands as a sign of these times, my cousin virtually witnessed her father passing, his energy moving from one dimension to the next in full digital view.
Grief arrives for many reasons. We often identify the death of a partner, spouse, friend, child, parent, or colleague as the deepest form of grief – and rightfully so. We’ve witnessed the pain of this kind of grief etched on survivors’ faces.