The Happiness Equation
Friday, December 26, 2008
Yesterday I got lucky as I set out on my long, winter walk: My son (just then knocking the soccer ball around in the back yard), whacked the thing into a yardly corner and volunteered to come along. He's taller than I am and walks straighter than he ever has. His features are sui generis, chiseled; his hair is buzzed and dark. His eyes would be the color of night except there's so much light in them, and whenever we're together alone, he begins, "So, Mom. How have you been?" As if there is more to any of us than the face we put out upon a day. And of course there is.
We got to talking about The Happiness Equation (Bridget Grenville-Cleave, Ilona Boniwell), a stocking stuffer of a book I'd given him. It's a fun book, if you have an interest (as my son forever has) in decoding one's inner life. You read along and you quantify your state of mind—giving yourself five points, for example, if you have a pet, subtracting five if you are anxiety prone, and on and on. Journaling increases your happiness, but not if you're stuck in the rut of writing down what went wrong. Material wealth is a downer (sorry, Paris). Idolizing celebrities will put you in the basement. Watching TV is you being stuck in a mucky rut, and choice overload isn't a condition to be envied. It's commonsense, obviously, but it's also cleverly set out, perfect for a kid like mine who said just the other day, "I've realized lately that we're not really meant to find the answers to all our questions. That if we did that, we'd be done."
We walked, and it was cold. We walked, and we talked about life—old happiness and new happiness, childhood regrets, nascent opportunities, the power of passion. We walked past my son's old elementary school and remembered. We walked past houses that have been torn down and replaced since he went off to school. We walked talking, and the three Christmas meals that I had fretted over were done, and the packages all had been wrapped and unwrapped, and the house was ridiculously clean (because yes, I overdo the housecleaning thing, which could put a dent not just on my own but on others' happiness) and there was nothing to worry over, nothing to do but keep walking beside my lithe son. I was writing my own Happiness Equation, just then. Or perhaps he was writing it for me.
11 comments:
I imagine that walk and talk was the best present you received this year...it would have been for me :)
Your son sounds like a wonderfully intuitive and intelligent young man. A psychologist in the making? or a writer?
What a wonderful book to talk about with a kid! I love the idea of the book and of sharing it.
Becca, yes. The finest gift (and I think of you these days, with your son so many miles from home). And PJ: It is a fun book to talk through. Light but still embedded with meaning.
Oh, Beth! Sounds like the perfect day. Your son sounds incredible. You've done an incredible job.
I'll need to see if I can find this book.
I like the math at your house :-)
Thank you for sharing your perfect Christmas gift with us.
I'm trying to figure out how you are so prolific plus keep immaculate house. That equation is the most difficult to figure.
Sounds like an interesting book. I read the description online and laughed when I saw that having a husband is +2 points whereas having a pet is +5. :)
Glad you enjoyed your walk! I'm exciting about doing the same with my mom. :)
Em: But having a not so great husband puts you right back down in the negative numbers. You gotta be careful out there.
Vivian: I'm just lucky; that's all. Very lucky.
Sherry: I must relate at once that this is a very small house, that I am plagued by an obsessive need to have everything as perfectly placed as possible, and that nothing is ever actually to my satisfaction. For this is an old house that leaks dust and defies any attempts at magazine sheen. But I think the most important mathematical factor is this: I hardly sleep and therefore the days go on and on and on..... House cleaning is often simply soothing, or a good form of exercise on a rainy day.
(I know you weren't expecting a real answer there; I am laughing at myself while looking back upon my words.)
Lovely, lovely! I can hear your feet crunching along as you two talk about anything and everything. Holiday walks are the BEST, aren't they?
XO
A.
PS - And I feel you on the housecleaning. There's rehab for that, right? I must look into it for 2009.
The boy and I took another walk yesterday.
ANd it was good.
Does one ever really accept the fact that one's sons grow to be so much taller than one? Reading about you and your boy, I was nostalgic years in advance for my own boys' childhood...
Beth, if you need a small brownstone apartment in Brooklyn to declutter one day, you know, as therapy, I'm sitting in one.
Love the idea of this book and of your son's pondering of happiness. I often do the same, and wonder why I let myself worry. Silly.
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