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A few weeks ago, I stumbled across an article about happiness — specifically, the best advice the writer had gathered throughout her years of working in health and wellness. And while I expected a list of earnest platitudes, I was instead greeted by an irreverent smorgasbord of interesting characters and insights.
Life advice from Cher! Anecdotes about putting birthday candles in meatloaf! Observations from astronauts!
Instead of feeling hackneyed, it was instead a colourful patchwork composed of different insights and world views. I even ventured into the comment section and found that it, too, offered a multitude of ideas about how to adjust your outlook and inject happiness into the everyday.
Armed with this new knowledge, I set off to see if these tips and tricks could change my life.
Some of the advice involved small actions — I gave sincere compliments to my friends, tried to tell my husband when I appreciated him, and attempted to make an “emotional first aid kit”. The conversations with my friends were a highlight — a shocking reminder that everyone doesn’t live inside your brain and have endless access to the nice things that you think about them.
But, while my friends all tearfully appreciated my praise, my husband stoically accepted my concession that he was, in fact, a fantastic father. “I know” he said, unflinchingly - which, if I’m honest, didn’t bring me quite the same jolt of glee as the reaction of my weepy friends.
An “emotional first aid kit” was described as being a collection of things, whether it be a playlist, screenshots of texts, or physical items, that you have on-hand to bring you comfort and happiness.
I was slightly confused by this idea and misguidedly ventured onto Reddit to see how others had compiled them. Instead of providing me any clarity, however, I quickly realised that I was mainly amid doomsday preppers who appeared to require carrying around enough paraphernalia to withstand several apocalypses, at all times.
I kept it simple and just played upbeat music in the car and put a sentimental birthday card in my handbag.
Other “actionable” tips included being silly three times a day and spending time with people younger than you — which, as a mother of two children under the age of four, comes with the territory.
A lot of the advice emphasised embracing ridiculousness and not taking anything too seriously, and so, in the spirit of absurdity, I decided to talk like a pirate any time my daughter had a tantrum. Which, I have to say, did make the meltdowns less stressful and did wonders to deescalate them due to my daughter’s sheer confusion.
“Do miniature versions of what you do on holiday” was another idea, and so I spent a few blissful hours at a sauna in my happy place, sweating alongside near-naked strangers in a hot coffin.
Although these deeds provided flashes of happiness, I found that the internal reflections, observations, and considerations suggested had a more profound impact on my overall outlook.
The best piece of advice, hands down, was Cher’s, who was quoted as saying “if it doesn’t matter in five years, it doesn’t matter” which felt like some kind of joyful nihilism. Somehow, waking up with this thought brought me great comfort, enabling me to expunge all of my mid-to-low level fears (honestly, most of them), like an unburdening, of sorts.
I thought ‘finding the joy in the every day’ was cringe-inducing. But I realised that it’s OK that for me, finding joy is in an ill-timed yoga fart
Other suggestions included trying to find joy in the everyday and to practise gratitude, both of which I’d heard before and found a bit cringe-inducing.
But, in the spirit of open-mindedness, I tried to embrace these concepts and found myself adopting them quite easily, discovering things all around me that delighted and amused me. A ridiculously tiny one-person car, for example, or a man with tinsel on his walking stick, a Volkswagen that looked like a goateed pervert, and drunk women dancing in a pub at 6pm on a Sunday all brought little sparkles of charm to my days.
Instead of looking out for what I thought I was supposed to be grateful for — a child’s smile or the abundance of nature — I realised that this concept is flexible, and unique to everyone. There’s no right or wrong answer, and if you “find joy” in an ill-timed yoga fart or a phallic cumulus cloud, then so be it.
Ultimately, the hints and tips couldn’t pierce through the hellish fog of toddler-induced sleep deprivation, and that specific day during the experiment was markedly awful, but, overall, I found that most of my other (less horrific) days did improve with an adjusted mindset and sprinkles of happy deeds throughout the day.
Life can be heavy, and it’s nice to try to find the light rather than expect the darkness. From now on, I’ll remind myself to embrace the silly, look out for the cars with the pervert faces, and, above all: I’ll do anything Cher tells me to.
