Tag: durable happiness

Grateful

June 24th, 2022

I live in a ridiculously nice place. Our son had friends over last night to watch Hamilton, and my husband and I didn’t want to eat pizza, which we ordered for them, so we got out of the house for dinner. We went to a little restaurant, Gillie’s, in downtown Blacksburg, and sat at a cafe table outside to dine. The temperature was pleasant, especially for a June evening — warm enough for sandals, short sleeves, and a knee-length skirt, and cool enough to sit outside — we were surrounded by green deciduous trees and bright flowers, town wasn’t crowded, it was easy to park, there were no sirens or loud noises or cars. There were no bugs.

As we ate, we talked about how often we look forward to the future: what we’ll do when we retire, where we’ll travel, where we’ll live. How we want to be close to a beach, but maybe we’d rather live in a city, or maybe we want to be on the Chesapeake, or maybe we want to be nomads. But the thing is, where we are right now is pretty phenomenal. We have four seasons, all of which are the perfect length. We have fresh air, green trees, sun and rain, wind and stillness, some snow in winter but not too much to be a burden. We have amazing hikes in every direction, many of which intersect or go along the Appalachian Trail. We’re constantly bumping up against the AT when we hike. Our little town has charm, and with my renewed interest in photography, it’d be fun to explore it more on foot.

This morning I sat outside with my coffee. I rarely do that; the table on the deck is usually covered in dew, and I have notebooks and pens and other morning accoutrement to carry along with my coffee cup and cereal bowl, which is a lot to transport outside while also trying to open and close the sliding screen door without the cats bolting. But the birds were chirping, the air was cool and fresh, the garden is always a magnet for me, and so I wiped the table and sat outside, filled with appreciation for where we live and the life we have.
Checking the forecast

April 21st, 2022

Every morning, I wake three hours before I plan to start my workday. I feed the cats, unload the dishwasher, make coffee, and then sit at the table and face the dark sliding glass door while I eat cereal and do the Wordle. Beside me on the table are my gardening log and my happiness-turned-meaning journal, along with whatever fountain pen has the ink color I’m feeling that day. Yesterday was pumpkin; today is Navajo turquoise.

After the Wordle, I move to the Quordle, and I usually finish my cereal about halfway through. It’s always a relief to push my bowl aside — I need my full concentration for the Quordle — and once I’m done with that, the space in front of me on the table is then clear for me to open my journals. The first is my meaning journal. This used to be my happiness journal, where I logged exercise, meditation, gratitude, acts of kindness, stuff like that. After two years of logging those sorts of things, I got bored with writing them down; the practice of documenting them had helped me to pay attention to those good things, but eventually, logging them began to feel like a chore, and I felt like I was failing if I didn’t write them down, and that made me feel less happy instead of more. When I read Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, I repurposed my wellness journal and turned it into a meaning journal. Each morning, I date a page, then write three headings I’ll fill in throughout the day: Works created and deeds done, Experiences and encounters, and Attitude in suffering. Maybe I can write about that in a separate blog post so as not to derail this one.

Because then comes the part of the day that I feel a jolt of joyful anticipation about when I wake up in the morning. I slide my garden journal in front of me, uncap my pen with the meadow green ink, and I check the weather forecast to see what the day will bring. On weekdays, it’s still dark out when I do this, so unless I can hear rain and wind, I’m never sure what to expect at daybreak. I’m eager to find out. Will the sun shine? What time of day will be best for a run? And most importantly: will it be nice enough to sit outside for lunch?

My lunch break is a mini-retreat each day. I’m usually home alone, so I have peace, quiet, and solitude, and I have the kitchen to myself to assemble whatever I’m eating that day. If the weather is poor or too cold to sit outside, I sit at the table inside, facing the back door that’s now full of daylight, where I can see the bird feeder and the garden, and I read. Yesterday I finished Ann Patchett’s These Precious Days while cardinals and finches flitted at the feeder and three rabbits chased each other through the yard.

When it’s sunny and warm, or even just when it’s warm, I sit on the table on the back porch with my legs dangling over the rails. While I eat from a plate in my lap, I inventory the growth of my plants, watch bumble bees wobble, and listen to birds chirp. The neighborhood is usually quiet during lunch on a weekday; nobody is mowing lawns, everyone is at work. I feel serene, and I return to work refreshed.

This time of year, it’s a rare treat to sit outside for lunch; I’ve only sat out there twice so far. Today likely will not be the third. It’ll still be too cool for my comfort, and it might rain. I’ll sit inside instead and read The Remains of the Day. According to the forecast, though, tomorrow looks promising.
I can’t believe I get to live here

January 10th, 2022

When we first moved to Blacksburg, Virginia, nearly 10 years ago, I read (and blogged about) a local newspaper article about how to build durable happiness. The article said that to sustain happiness, we should appreciate and savor, and continue to appreciate and savor, the good things we have in our lives.

I want to lean into winter this year, so when my husband asked me yesterday if I wanted to go hiking with him, I said yes. I had sniffed the air and knew from the forecast that rain was coming. Being cold and wet is pretty much my least favorite state to be in. It’s miserable and uncomfortable and makes me very grumpy, so I almost didn’t join him. I sucked it up, put on multiple layers, including a rain coat, and went anyway.

The roads were clear on the first part of our drive. As we climbed in altitude on the lesser travelled routes, the winding mountain paths got pretty slushy. Rain spit on the windshield, but when we arrived at the trailhead, it stopped. I grabbed my camera and gaiters, and we set off into the snowy forest.

Snowy road to War Spur trail

Though we’re too far from the ocean for me to want to live here forever, I’m grateful that we get to live here right now. We could have ended up in a much less pleasant town. I’m grateful we live in a place with four distinct seasons, with mountains, snow, mosses and ferns, deciduous and evergreen trees, hiking, birds, and natural beauty in every direction. I’m grateful that yesterday, the weather kept people inside, and we had the whole forest to ourselves.

Hikers had been there since the snow fell, but we were the only ones out when we hiked

I’m grateful my husband planned to hike regardless of the forecast, and that I decided to go with him despite my aversion to being cold and wet. I’m grateful we had nowhere to be and nothing we had to do, and we had the freedom and means to go for a day hike. I’m grateful for my wool socks, wool hat, gloves, raincoat, and hard-soled hiking shoes to keep me cozy while hiking in the snow, and that it didn’t rain on us while we were out of the car after all. I’m grateful for my camera to help me capture the scenery. I’m grateful for the sound of the wind in the trees. I’m grateful for our home, where our cats and children were warm and dry.

And I’m grateful for our fireplace, where I built a roaring wood fire when we got back home and the rain finally came down.

I think that was more than five things for today’s Bloganuary prompt, What are 5 things you are grateful for today? I could have written many more! But it would have bored you.
One year Automattiversary

September 4th, 2015

A little over a year ago, I submitted work for a writing gig that I was sure I was a great fit for. I was deep into my writing habit, and I knew the work I submitted was good. When I never heard back — a fate even worse than outright rejection because it feels like they don’t even care — I was heartbroken. I had had pieces of work rejected before, but this rejection stung. It stung because I knew the platform, I knew the subject, I thought I was a part of the tribe. It stung because I realized I wasn’t part of the tribe: I was chasing people who didn’t want me. I felt like a girl with a crush, and the object of my crush didn’t even know I existed.

And then came Automattic.

And I realized who my true tribe are.

Automattic is the company that makes WordPress.com, the blogging platform I use for my Butterfly Mind and Andrea Reads America blogs: the blogging platform that enabled me to dig deep into my writing habit. WordPress.com is the blogging community that helped me keep writing, keep improving, and keep publishing without a gatekeeper, without giving control of my work to someone else who could potentially reject it even when I know it’s good.

Automattic is a company dedicated to the mission of democratizing publishing. That’s a mission I can 100% get behind.

One year ago today, I joined Automattic as a Happiness Engineer, and was welcomed into the fold with open arms and a genuine feeling that I am trusted, I am wanted, and I am where I belong.

My job is to help others realize their publishing dreams. As a Happiness Engineer, I have the honor of helping writers, photographers, small business owners, poets, graphic artists, and other creatives get their work into the world without anyone else’s approval, without fear of the big fat REJECTION stamp that someone else wields.

How have I done that? One of the things I love about my job is how nerdy we all are. Which means we have stats. I’ve been waiting for this day so I can peek at my support stats and see what I’ve done this year:

Support emails with WordPress.com users: 2232
Live chats with WordPress.com users: 3738
Number of Blogging University courses I helped with: 5
Number of bugs reported: 35+

What about that writing dream?

Number of internal blog posts written: 430
Number of comments written on internal blogs: 1299
Number of Daily Post articles I authored or contributed to: 7+

And this is my very favorite:

Number of words posted on internal blogs at Automattic: 126,010.

That’s longer than a standard novel*, y’all. And that doesn’t include my personal blog posts here on Butterfly Mind or at Andrea Reads America. I seem to be writing more now than I wrote as a writer.

Thank you Automattic, for an amazing first year, for welcoming me, for trusting me, and for providing a place of purpose to work.

*For reference: 126,000 words is almost double the length of The Color Purple by Alice Walker or The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway.

Does this sound awesome to you? Join us. We’re hiring.
Durable Happiness (R)

May 15th, 2014

Posting a photograph last Friday of where I walk when I listen to my podcasts reminded me of a piece I wrote soon after our family moved to Blacksburg, Virginia. Nearly two years later, we still love it here; I think that means we have a chance at durable happiness. Please enjoy this post from the very early days of Butterfly Mind (October 18, 2012).

“RESEARCH OFFERS HOPE FOR THOSE SEEKING DURABLE BOOST IN HAPPINESS.” That’s the title of an article I clipped from the paper this summer. I don’t think I’ve ever clipped a newspaper article, but I saved this one. Because in this piece, I learned the secret of people who are able to sustain happiness after an exciting life change (being newly married, or, say, taking the perfect job): that, even beyond the initial excitement of their good news, rather than letting the novelty wear off and searching for something newer and better, these happy folks continue, on a daily basis, to appreciate the positive differences the change has made in their lives.

Kind of like how every time I drive out of our neighborhood and see Appalachians in front of me, I think, “Wow! I can’t believe we live here!”

I’ve been thinking a lot about this article since we made our move to Blacksburg because it tells our story – “When Jim Gubbins finally got the job he’d been working toward for 12 years, he was a very happy man.” Every day, my husband and I marvel at our good fortune, that all of our work actually paid off in they way we were hoping it would, and in a place so spectacular. But what really caught my attention, especially since, like my husband, this Gubbins character is a professor, is that after three years in his tenure-track position, Gubbins is even happier than when he first landed his dream job. All because he is satisfied with what he has, because he is not looking for something better. Because he marvels at his good fortune. After three years, he still savors the changes his job has offered him in all aspects of his life – the friendships he’s cultivated in his workplace, the perks of being at a smaller university, the opportunity to share knowledge. The amazing place he lives.

That last part – the amazing place he lives – resonates deeply with me, and makes me think we might have a shot at this durable happiness thing. My husband and I moved around a lot before settling in Blacksburg, no place ever feeling like quite the right fit, no place feeling like home. A friend likened us to Goldilocks, as we started in Florida (too hot), then moved to Minnesota (too cold), and are finally settling down in Virginia (just right). But it’s not just the climate that fits. Every time I see hemlocks and white pines, or we hike with our kids on the Appalachian Trail, or I smell the scent of mountains – a crisp mix of dry leaves, warm granite, damp earth, and high, clean air – every time I hear a Southern drawl, or my manager at work says “cotton-pickin’,” I delight in our good luck. I can’t believe we live here.

Sometimes I hesitate to get too attached, or I try to rein in my happiness, because I’m so used to having to uproot, to not get too close. Or I think the novelty will wear off at some point. The mountains will surely become so everyday, such a normal part of the landscape, that I won’t even notice them anymore.

This article, though, it’s urging me to risk it – to get attached, to get real close, to notice the mountains (like broccolli forests in summer, glittering gemstones in fall), to breathe the Appalachian air. It reminds me to savor these gifts. Having already hiked six different trails in six weeks – with waterfalls and babbling brooks, views of Allegheny ridges and the New River Valley, with boulders, hemlocks and white pines, deciduous trees ablaze in citrine, garnet, and yellow sapphire – and countless choices for new hikes, all within 30 minutes of home, the outlook is good that even in a few years we will still be in awe that we get to live here. Because we haven’t even unpacked our camping gear yet.

But the most exciting bit of encouragement that our happiness will endure comes from folks who have lived here a while. On a late-summer day in the courtyard at our kids’ school, when the sky was a crystalline blue, and the sun was warm, but not too warm, on my face, and another time, on a damp autumn morning, when fog rolled over the gentle green domes of the Appalachian mountains, I said to my companion of the day, “Every day, I look around me, or I smell the air, and I think, I can’t believe we live here.”

And my friends – two separate women, unknown to each other and on separate occasions – said quietly to me, both smiling in the same conspiratorial way, “You know, I’ve lived here for 14 years, and I still feel that same way.”
Where I walk

May 9th, 2014

This is where I walk each morning, listening to my favorite podcasts. Pretty isn’t it?

This is my entry for the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge: On the Move.