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!).
And that’s how a girl gets pregnant,” Teo said in his thick Polish accent. Alan nodded his assent as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. “That’s cannibalistic,” was my reply. My eleven year-old mind meant to say primitive. Surely human civilization had a better way to reproduce than what I had just heard […]
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I was lying on my bed, lost on the island world of Swiss Family Robinson, when I heard the crash. I jumped up and ran into the combination laundry room / bathroom of our new house and was overcome immediately by the bleach vapors. Broken shards of brown glass from the Clorox bottle were everywhere.
I’m going to hell. No doubt about it. I say that without any trepidation, worry, or concern. When I say it to some people, they promise to pray for me. That’s cool, I tell them. I certainly won’t discourage anyone from throwing positive energy my way. But if there’s a Biblical sulfuric pit of endless
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I pulled the yellow Rubbermaid dish washing gloves off and turned them upside down. Dirty water drained out of them. I examined my hands. They were white, prune-like, bleeding, and stinging from the harsh laundry detergent I had to keep pouring into the cleaning water. “Are you gonna git to work or stand around feeling
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On a Saturday afternoon last November, my wife Kim and I pulled into the parking lot of the Woodland Park Wal-Mart. Usually, she drives around looking for a parking spot that is far away and less likely to get our new car dinged. But this time, she swung quickly into an empty space. As she
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The happy shrieks and yelling of small children woke us from our sleep. Not that we had slept well. The red sandstone of Sedona, Arizona did not make for a comfortable bed. My college roommate and I both stuck our heads out of the tent. We could see children zooming around the campground finding the
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