I'm pretty sure I cried straight through the first half of 2020.
In my defense, I was having an objectively tragic year. I left not just my job but my career under the unrelenting pressure of my worsening disability. My husband and I moved, again, this time for a job I knew I needed but wasn't sure I wanted. Two close family members developed devastating chronic illnesses. And I realized that I'm gradually losing my ability to walk and use my hands. All this against the backdrop of, y'know, the raging collective trash fire that has been 2020.
All I was was sad, all the time. I couldn't even talk to anyone about it, really. I just cried every day.
Midway through the year, a close friend sent me a link to a book and informed me we were going to read it together.
I clicked on the link and was greeted by a bright yellow cover with - of all things - an enormous smiley face on it. The Happiness Advantage, the cover screamed. How a Positive Brain Fuels Success in Work and Life. I snorted and texted her back some version of absolutely not. I wasn't about to buy a yellow smiley book on being happy. I don't like yellow. Or being told how to feel. I'm not even sure I like happiness. I find it suspicious a lot of the time, schmaltzy and commoditized, and often exhausting. A forced smile in a toothpaste ad. No.
When it arrived a mere two days after I ordered it, the book and I stared at each other for a bit. I can't believe I'm reading this stupid book, I texted my friend. Don't ever doubt my love for you. She responded in the cheerfully assumptive manner of someone who never has: we should discuss once a week. Do you want to do one chapter at a time or two?
I truly didn't expect this book to change me so much.
The breakthrough came when we got to the chapter about gratitude. Gratitude: another word I have learned to eye suspiciously, given its cachet with trendy influencers and people who like motivational posters. It conjures up carefully posed social media posts full of product placements - cynicism lacquered in toxic positivity. This was different, though. The author gave a simple hypothesis: maybe the brain can be trained to be more optimistic by marking the good things that are already present in one's life. Invoking the power of accountability, he suggested telling a close friend or loved one three things you are grateful for each day, things that didn't have to be profound but did need to be specific. This appealed to me. It seemed practical and attainable. Maybe we could try it?
So we began. Every day, we would tell each other about a great cup of coffee or a glimpse of beauty, a moment of laughter, a kindness we received. For the most part we kept it small. Almost immediately, we realised that just hearing about the other's happy moments brightened our own day. We didn't anticipate this recursive loop of happiness, but we embraced it, and it became its own self-reinforcing system. We would reach out to each other greedily in the evenings, sometimes simultaneously: tell me about your day! What are you grateful for?
Some days it was a real stretch. It's 2020; a lot of crummy things happened. And nothing about this exercise changed the essential facts of my life. But with practice, we learned that even on the worst days, there was something to feel legitimately grateful for.
This may sound basic, but consider its effects. In the manner of a river slowly changing its bed, my focus has gradually eroded away from the major obstacles I face, instead eddying around bits of happiness. I'm learning to better appreciate small pleasures. And I'm finding that I'm emotionally stronger for it. Far from this change being a distraction or a waste of time, when I turn back to the big challenges they are somehow less overwhelming, because I recognize now that my life will always have a wealth of good things in it. I just have to take the time to notice them.
It's my prayer that in 2021, we would all be able to apply this lesson. There is joy trickling through all the little cracks in our lives, and this next year I hope to settle into that understanding further. It's a small goal, but I'm satisfied with that. A change, no matter how incremental, can gather a curious momentum of its own with time, gradually pressing through the mud to find hope.
So here's to hope.
Happy New Year.
