The Secret to Happiness

is definitely not a secret, because everyone keeps trying to sell it.

I recently came to the realization that I am afraid of the future.

This is less than ideal, because at least as far as my human brain can process, time moves forward. And while I may not know what the future holds, I can guarantee that it is coming.

I’m wary of making plans, a fear centered not on the events themselves, but because it begs the question of what might happen before then. I glance tentatively at the calendar invite, the RSVP card, the date stamped at the top of the milk carton—all of them inspire a certain dread.

I recently shared this with my partner, after I had a visceral reaction to a far-off wedding invitation.

“That’s dark,” he said, with the same tone Sally Albright takes with Harry Burns for the first thirty minutes of the movie. I am inclined to agree.

“It’s amazing. You look like a normal person, but actually you are the angel of death.”

The last few years have been marked with a lot of changes and challenges. People have used the word “doozy” with alarming frequency. Sometimes I pine for a time that wasn’t so dooziful.

In my twenties, I often cited that my favorite thing about living in NYC was the way that life could seemingly change in an instant. You might leave to do an errand and run into a friend on their way to a party. Before you knew it, you were tagging along to some stranger’s apartment, dancing on a rooftop, meeting the love of your life or your future business partner or the characters in a story you would tell for years to come.

But this ignores two truths:

1. Most days do not go this way.

2. Change happens everywhere, in all directions.

I was discussing this with a friend over lunch this past week—specifically as it relates to some of the hard stuff that has recently touched our circle.

As the conversation turned to her 19-month-old daughter (a decidedly joyful topic) one phrase stuck with me. Tucked among the funny stories and descriptions of emerging toddlerhood—"demon phase” among them—were these words:

“She’s just so happy to be here.”

Babies and young children know what’s up. True, for them the world is novel, and they don’t have to worry about bills, taxes, or emotional baggage. But they possess an inherent sense of wholeness we spend our whole lives trying to reclaim. Not to mention the wonder, curiosity, and playfulness from which innovation is born.

Meanwhile, adulthood so often feels like an endless cycle of trading the same advice, wisdom, and platitudes back and forth, with slight variations in wording. (These days more than ever.) All in the hopes we might find our way back to what we knew in the first place.

On my way home from lunch, I popped into a bookstore and was struck by the number of books with happy or happiness in the title. I didn’t count because it might’ve taken all day, but may it suffice to say it was so plentiful that the stock could’ve been repurposed to open an entire happiness-themed bookstore.

Of course, there is no one secret to happiness and anyone who tries to sell such a thing is full of shit. (And anyone who titles their newsletter “The Secret to Happiness” is clearly trying to pad their open rate. But I digress.)

She’s just so happy to be here.

The key to a multi-billion-dollar industry. At what point do we forget?

Highly suspect.

This morning I ran my first race since I injured my hip back in June.

“Why is this my hobby?” I wondered, as I woke before dawn, rode an hour in a crowded subway car wedged in someone else’s armpit, waited in the queue outside the port-a-potties, and missed my start time by 30 minutes. “I should’ve taken up knitting!” I grumbled, as I rushed onto the course.

But something struck me while I was out there.

For a while now, I’d suspected running might be an obvious exercise in avoidance. (Trying to outrun my problems, outpace my worries, and the like.) But today, I understood: I am practicing forward motion. Getting comfortable arriving in the next second, and the next, and the next.

Embracing onward. The inevitable direction of life.

As I just received clearance to run again, this race was more of an experiment than an exercise in glory. Can I run without re-aggravating things? Can I salvage my training to make it to the starting line of the NYC marathon in seven weeks? (So far, so good.)

Striding along, at an easy pace that would have enraged my competitive spirit a few months ago, I felt strong and stable.

“I’m just so happy to be here,” I thought.

It was simple. It was true. It was more than enough.

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Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring Apparition Tarot by Mary Evans

Once upon a time there was a person who wrote a newsletter. Most days looked the same—write, post, rinse, repeat. It was sometimes hard to make ends meet, and the writer wondered if it was time to throw in the towel. But one day, they woke up and opened their email to discover a tremendous landslide had taken place. Some huge outlet had featured the newsletter and encouraged everyone to subscribe—and they did! The writer couldn’t believe how their life had changed, overnight.

That story is fiction (though it may or may not have graced the mind of everyone with a newsletter). It is also an excellent depiction of what today’s card is about.

The iconic Smith-Waite Tarot, with art by Pamela Colman Smith

The Wheel of Fortune is one of the rare cards that doesn’t center on a human character. What it lacks in people it more than makes up for in symbolism, which can give the impression that it must be mired in esoteric secrets. But what this card speaks to couldn’t be more human—fate, destiny, randomness, synchronicity, surprise. The narrative unfolding around us. The ups and downs we encounter every day. The fact that our luck can change in an instant, and the next opportunity may be closer than we think.

If this card had a soundtrack, it would surely be anchored by Turn! Turn! Turn!, a nod to an ever-changing world with a time and place for everything.

It calls to mind game shows a la Wheel of Fortune, or the rush of a roulette table. No matter how stagnant we may feel, unforeseen forces are always at play, shuffling the deck and waiting to deal us a new hand. But there is another side to games, one we have a bit more control over.

Research has shown that humans are naturally adept at game playing and wired to embrace hard work when it is structured as a game. (Anyone who’s ever sung a “clean up song” or created a sticker chart to inspire kids to do chores knows what I’m talking about…and as it turns out, adults are not much different.) Reframing a challenge into a game—with a clear objective, and measurable progress points—can help us to face tasks that loom Sisyphean before us.  

The Wheel of Fortune invites us to give it a spin, to try our hand, to take a chance. The future is unfolding whether we like it or not, and much is beyond our control…but in the meantime, why not throw our hat in the ring and see what might come of it?

This card gently (or, in some cases, not-so-gently) asks us to let go, loosen our grip, and relinquish some of the control we are trying to exert over every little aspect of our lives. Life is an adventure, and adventure is largely a mindset. Luck may favor the prepared and fortune may favor the bold, but our animal bodies require flexibility and forgiveness. As we go through our days, maintaining a balance is key.

The wheel turns, unceasing—like a clock, like our planet, like nearly everything in the universe. It cannot be controlled or harnessed. It cannot (try as we might) be fully understood. The contemplation of this is both exciting and humbling, much like the nature of life.

I recently read something that said grief is like a wave, reaching a crescendo and crashing on the shore. It abates and then returns, over and over. The Wheel follows a similar course. As it turns, there are high points, low points, and everything in between.

The Wheel is a purveyor of chance. Which is another way of saying possibility.

Take a chance. Give it a chance. Open yourself up to possibilities. (Including ones you haven’t yet imagined.)

Go for it, this card whispers. What do you have to lose?

Or perhaps a better question: What might you have to gain?