The Happiness Project (20 page)

“You know, we’ve thought about that,” Ellen said, “but never very seriously.”

That night I was so excited by the idea of their book project that I couldn’t fall asleep. I didn’t know these two women well, so I wasn’t sure whether to press the issue. On the other hand, I felt positive that they could write a terrific book. I suspected that nothing more would happen unless I nudged them along, so I asked if they wanted to meet for coffee to discuss it. We met, and as we talked, they became increasingly enthusiastic. I put them in touch with my agent. They put some ideas down
on paper. In a flash, they had a book contract, they wrote the book, and now Nancy Schulman and Ellen Birnbaum’s
Practical Wisdom for Parents: Demystifying the Preschool Years
is on the shelves. Knowing that I played a small role in their achievement made me intensely happy.

As I was trying to stay alert for ways to “Help people think big,” I had an enormous happiness breakthrough: my Second Splendid Truth. I’m not sure why it took me so long to see this plainly, because I’d understood the principles involved for a long time, but there was a circularity to these ideas that confused me. At last, one June morning, it came clear:

This was a major, major insight. Obvious, but major. The Second Splendid Truth clarified many things that had been mixed up in my mind.

For example, what is the relationship between altruism and happiness? Some people argue that because doing good deeds brings happiness, no act can be truly altruistic, because when we act for the benefit of others, we please ourselves.

The Second Splendid Truth (Part A) provides the answer: yes, of course, so what? All the better! That feeling of happiness doesn’t minimize the “goodness” of the act. The fact is, the sight of someone performing a generous or kind act always makes me feel happy.
Especially
if it’s
me!
The spectacle of virtue inspires the feeling of elevation—one of the most delicate pleasures that the world offers. As Simone Weil observed, “Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating.” That’s true no matter who is performing that real good.

Also, the Second Splendid Truth underscores the fact that striving to be happy isn’t a selfish act. After all, one of the main reasons that I set out to become happier in the first place was that I figured I’d have an easier time behaving myself properly if I felt less anxious, irritated, resentful, and angry; when I reflected on the people I knew, the happier people were more kind, more generous, and more fun. By being happy myself, I’d help make other people happy. And vice versa. “Do good, feel good; feel good, do good.”

Or to put it another way, suitable for a Snoopy poster: “There is an ‘I’ in ‘happiness.’”

Bring People Together.

My children’s literature reading group and my writers’ strategy group showed me that another way to be generous was to “Bring people together.” Studies show that extroverts and introverts alike get a charge out of connecting with others; also, because people are sources of information and resources for one another, if you help bring people together, you provide them with new sources of support.

I looked for ways to connect people. I helped organize a reunion of the Supreme Court clerks who clerked the same year that I did. (The justices organize reunions of their own clerks, but apparently, our group was the only one that held a reunion of all the clerks from a particular term.) I worked to start a group to support the children’s rooms of the New York Public Library. I set up a friend on a blind date, which resulted in immediate, total love. I helped organize a barbecue taste-off: a bunch of people from barbecue-proud states brought their favorite homestate barbecue so we could debate the fine points of beef versus pork, tomato-based versus vinegar-based sauce, and whether popcorn, wilted greens, or baked beans were the most appropriate side dish. I introduced some friends who were moving to upstate New York to someone I knew
up there, and they ended up being housemates. In each of these cases, bringing people together took some work from me: looking up e-mail addresses, coordinating schedules, and so on. But my resolutions kept ringing in my ears, so I stuck with it, and each time it was worth the effort.

I wanted some more ideas about how to “Bring people together,” so I posted a question on my blog. Other people got the same charge from it that I did.

Contribute in My Way.

As I looked for other ways to “Be generous,” it occurred to me that I should try to apply my First Commandment: “Be Gretchen.” No, I didn’t like to shop for gifts, but how could I be more generous?

Well, I reflected, I had the passion for clutter clearing that I’d developed back in January. Many of my friends felt oppressed by clutter, and I could help. I’d
love
to help. I started pressing my ser vices on everyone I talked to. “Come on, let me come over!” I kept saying. “I need the buzz of clearing a closet! Believe me, you’ll be happy you did it! You’ll see, it’s addictive!” My friends were intrigued but embarrassed. They didn’t want me to see their messes. Once I managed to talk my way in, however, it was a hugely satisfying experience for both of us.

One night, for example, a friend and I worked on a single closet in her house for three hours. She hated her overstuffed closet so much that she never opened its door; rather than try to use it, she kept wearing the same clothes over and over again, and those she kept stacked on her bureau or draped over the side of the bathtub.

“What should I do before you come over?” she asked, the day before our meeting. “Should I buy any containers or special hangers or anything?”

“Do
not
buy one single organizing gadget,” I said. “All you need is a few boxes of big garbage bags. Oh, one more thing—you need to figure out who’s going to get all the stuff that you’re going to give away.”

“Can I decide that later?”

“No, it’s better to know ahead of time. It’s much easier to let go of things when you can imagine who’ll benefit from receiving them.”

“Okay, I can do that. Is that really all?”

“Well,” I said, “maybe get some Diet Coke.”

The next day, I showed up.

“I have no idea where to start,” she said after the usual apologies for the disorder.

“Don’t worry!” I said. “We’ll go through it several times, and each time, we’ll eliminate a new layer of clutter, until nothing’s left except things you want to keep.”

“Okay,” she said dubiously.

“Let’s just jump in.” I knew from experience that I should start slow. “First, let’s take out all the extra hangers.”

As always, this initial step yielded a pile of unneeded hangers and cleared out a bunch of space. This was my flashy morale booster.

“Okay. Now we go through and look at each item. We’re most suspicious of anything that still has tags or anything that was a gift or anything that doesn’t fit you
now
or anything you associate with pregnancy.”

We eliminated a layer. The giveaway pile was already large.

“Now we look for duplicates. If you have four pairs of black pants, are you really ever going to wear your least favorite pair? Nope.” Good-bye to some khakis, some shirts, some turtleneck sweaters.

My friend clutched a T-shirt protectively. “I know you’re going to tell me to get rid of this, but I can’t. I never wear it, but it was my favorite shirt in college.”

“No, keep it! Absolutely keep some clothes for sentimental value—just store them somewhere else. They don’t need to be in your main clothes closet.”

We started a box for keepsake clothes and slid it onto a high, unused shelf.

“Wow, it’s looking great,” she said as she surveyed our handiwork.

“We’re not done yet,” I cautioned. “Now we look for ways to make space. This closet is prime real estate. Let’s put the heating pad and the duffel bag someplace else.” She tucked those things into a hall closet. “Do you ever use these empty shoe boxes?”

“Nope! I have no idea why I kept those.” She chucked them into the recycling pile. “What now?”

“Now you’re warmed up. We’ll go through the whole closet again, and you’ll see, there’s more you’ll want to take out.”

Slowly the back of the closet became visible. By the time she was done, her closet looked like something from a magazine. She had even achieved the ultimate luxury: an empty shelf. We both felt thrilled and triumphant. A few weeks later, I heard that when she’d had some friends over for dinner, she’d taken them all to view her closet.

I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that I got a huge buzz from clearing her clutter. This kind of generosity was far easier for me to offer than giving a birthday present—and far more valuable to the recipient.

I looked for other opportunities to give. Last month, as part of my resolution to “Go off the path,” I’d started carrying my camera everywhere, so I’d been taking more pictures. A friend was very pleased to get a photograph I had taken of her a few weeks before she gave birth; it was the only photo she had of herself pregnant with her second child. This was a tiny effort on my part, but it was significant to her.

Cut People Slack.

During this month of friendship, I happened to read two memoirs that reminded me of something that’s easy to forget: people’s lives are far more complicated than they appear from the outside. That’s why, as part of my resolution to “Be generous,” I meant to
cut people slack.

The “fundamental attribution error” is a psychological phenomenon in which we tend to view other people’s actions as reflections of their characters and to overlook the power of situation to influence their actions, whereas with ourselves, we recognize the pressures of circumstance. When other people’s cell phones ring during a movie, it’s because they’re inconsiderate boors; if my cell phone rings during a movie, it’s because I need to be able to take a call from the babysitter.

I tried to remember not to judge people harshly, especially on the first or second encounter. Their actions might not reveal their enduring character but instead reflect some situation they find themselves in. Forbearance is a form of generosity.

I reminded myself of this resolution when, as I stood calmly on a street corner with my arm outstretched for a taxi, a man came tearing up the street, flung out his arm, and jumped into the cab that, according to all New York City cab tradition, should have been mine. I started to get indignant about his unforgivable rudeness; then I thought of all the reasons that a person might be desperate to steal the first taxi he saw. Was he rushing to the hospital? Had he forgotten to pick up his child at school? I wasn’t in any rush. I should cut the guy some slack.

In a letter to a friend, Flannery O’Connor put this precept another way: “From 15 to 18 is an age at which one is very sensitive to the sins of others, as I know from recollections of myself. At that age you don’t look for what is hidden. It is a sign of maturity not to be scandalized and to try to find explanations in charity.” “Find explanations in charity” is a more holy way of saying “cut people slack.”

SHOW UP.

Just as Woody Allen said that “eighty percent of success is showing up,” a big part of friendship is showing up. Unless you make consistent efforts, your friendships aren’t going to survive.

I came to this realization during a conversation with a friend. I mentioned to her that I’d been procrastinating about making arrangements to visit some friends’ new babies. I loved seeing the babies, but I often delayed because I felt that I should spend that time working.

“You should do it,” she said. “That kind of thing really matters.”

“You think so?” I asked. I’d been trying to convince myself that it didn’t.