One thing I know about happiness is that it comes from the narrative of our life. The story we tell ourselves. But too often, we let others write that story for us. Unhappiness and discontent inevitably follow. The only person who can write the story of your life properly is you. In order to change our narrative to an authentic one, one we write ourselves, we must change our perspective, and thus our perceptions of our world. This is not a new idea. Plato explained it in “Allegory of the Cave” over 2,300 years ago. A small change in perception can mean a huge change in what we see. And changing how we see lets us write a new narrative. The Dalai Lama also explores this idea of the relationship between perception and a good life in his book The Art of Happiness (99¢ in the remainder bin . . . maybe you can buy happiness after all!).
The air raid siren sent a shiver down my spine as I scrambled to get under my desk. I got on my knees, put my forehead on the floor, and clasped my hands together over the back of my head. Then I waited. What if it was for real, I asked myself? What if it […]
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There’s an old saying that even a broken clock is right twice a day. Of course that was pre-digital clocks. Now, a broken clock just stares at you with a blank face. The point is that it’s hard for anyone to be wrong all of the time. And sometimes, when talking about historical figures, what
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Okay, everybody get super frosty. I’m going to talk about the N word. You know the one I’m thinking of . . . the word is . . . nickel. Okay, I lie. It’s another word. One that has a long and hateful history. But I know better than to be a white man using
It was my first day of student teaching and I was feeling overwhelmed. I was wearing my only suit, which made me way overdressed and therefore feeling even more out of place. Adding to my discomfort was the fact that my cooperating teacher, as well as two thirds of the school, was out with the
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“Who’s on first?” the sixth grade boy said as the florescent orange rubber bands on his braces practically glowed in the increasing darkness. He eagerly awaited my response. “Yes,” I answered. There was a moment’s pause and then he looked confused. “But who’s on first?” he repeated. He wanted the routine to continue, unaware that
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Ronnie quietly closed the door of his bedroom and jumped back into his bed. “Did you get it?” James asked. “Yeah,” Ronnie answered. “I got a couple of them.” James and I were Ronnie’s guests for his birthday party/sleepover. I was thrilled just to be invited since I wasn’t exactly an A-lister in the sixth
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