I don’t think you’ll believe this when you read my litany of sloth and self-hate, but I would describe my resting state as extremely happy. It is not very easy to cheer me up, because I am already fuelled by cheer. At least, this is what I thought before I started taking active steps to improve my happiness. Every day for a week I tried something that might make me even more Pollyannaish, based on suggestions from the Guardian’s new Happy for Life app. I now think there probably is room for improvement. This means that on a micro level my happiness has slightly increased, although on a macro level my entire mental universe has been called into question.
Day one
Option 1 Do a workout from YouTube. Rejected on the grounds of effort.
Option 2 Try three minutes of mindfulness meditation. Rejected because mindfulness is a bit 2013.
Option 3 Play on the swings.
I didn’t want to take my own children, because that would have involved looking after them when I was trying to work. But adults with no children are somewhat frowned upon – in some instances even banned – in playgrounds. So I had to wait until it was dark, and then I went in with the dog, who isn’t normally allowed. It was totally empty. It felt liberating for a bit.
Then I decided that people walking past were thinking: “Another idiot Clapham mother on a stupid exercise jag she’s read about on Mumsnet.” I couldn’t see their faces, so really I had no idea what they were thinking. I just have a self-hating monologue going on in my head, apparently. That was sobering.
Then I kicked the dog in the face and had to go home. Stupid dog didn’t know where to stand.
I felt pretty good, though, before that happened.
Before happy After pretty darn happy (on a scale that goes from “meh”, through “not very happy”, “happy”, “pretty darn happy” and “woo-hoo!” to “MAX HAPPY”)
Day two
Option 1 Ask three friends why they love you. Rejected because it made me feel physically sick.
Option 2 Try a craft like knitting. Rejected because (big secret) I am already partial to a bit of knitting, and it wouldn’t mix things up enough.
Option 3 Tell a joke.
I told my friend this joke, for which you have to imagine that the binman is from Lancashire and the householder is Japanese but has lived in Lancashire for long enough to assume “tha”, hearing “the”. Oh, and that the bin is missing.
Binman: “Where’s the bin?”
Householder: “I bin in toilet.”
Binman: “No, where’s the wheelie bin?”
Householder: “I wheelie bin having a wank.”
She said: “That’s actually quite funny,” as though it was the first time she had ever heard a joke that was funny. This made me realise that she’d had to steel herself in order to be told the joke in the first place, and then I appreciated our friendship about 5% to 7% more.
Before happy After pretty darn happy
Day three
Option 1 Write a piece of flash fiction – tell a story in 150 words, making sure it has a beginning, middle and end. Rejected because it was too hard.
Option 2 Take a nap – even 10 minutes has been proven to make a difference. Rejected because I could never guarantee to wake up before eight hours had passed.
Option 3 Give to a food bank.
I was meant to give some food to a food bank, but unfortunately the one I used to donate to has had homophobia charges against it, which naturally doesn’t mean people have stopped needing food, but … well, I needed a change of philanthropic scene. I don’t even agree with philanthropy – I believe in tax. So it never puts me in a good mood.
In the end, I went on the Refuge gift list. They put a John Lewis list up (number 609505), and you can buy presents for families who’ve had to leave their homes in extremis and a hurry. It’s humanising, scrolling through it: you look at a Frozen backpack and imagine the six-year-old, or the Burt’s Bees hand cream, and think: “For Christ’s sake, couldn’t anybody think of a better present for a woman who’s had to leave her home in a traumatised state than some stupid cream?” It didn’t cheer me up – it made me depressed.
Before happy After meh
Day four
Option 1 Feed the birds – choose things like black sunflower seeds, peanuts or specialist bird feeds. Rejected because it would have involved buying black sunflower seeds.
Option 2 Mend fences: if a disagreement has damaged a relationship, make the first move and apologise for your part in it. Rejected because I actually do have to make my peace with someone whose mother has died, and I wouldn’t want him to think I was condoling him for a feature.
Option 3 Rearrange your living room – your physical environment has a huge impact on your wellbeing.
So I was meant to rearrange a room, but my other house adult wouldn’t help me. (He says no to everything for the first six months. Then he stops saying no, for no discernible reason except that six months have elapsed. It actually works OK for me and gives me a cooling-off period for my stupid ideas. But it isn’t great when you want to move furniture.)
Instead, I organised the top of my cupboard, so it didn’t look like a Boots that had been looted by drug addicts, who had knocked all the deodorants over searching for drugs. That was quite satisfying for about two days, whereupon it reverted to the norm and looked exactly as it had before. I think there is a deeper lesson here about how to effect meaningful change in your environment. In order to do anything that couldn’t immediately be messed up by your sloppy nature, you have to move something too heavy for you to move back.
Before happy After meh
Day five
Option 1 Write a life CV: you are more than your work, so create a CV for yourself that lists all the achievements you’re proud of. Rejected because I am proud of nothing.
Option 2 Take a long bath, ideally with some beautifully scented products, a good book and some relaxing music. Rejected because my children laugh at me when I have a bath. They think it’s the sort of thing grandmas do.
Option 3 Cancel an appointment. Too much to do? Look through your diary for this week and find one appointment you can cancel or reschedule for when you’re less busy.
I’d had a really busy week, with today blocked out to go and cover some newsworthy event. This is the closest thing I have to an actual job. I discussed it with … let’s call him my boss, for brevity. He wanted me to go to Blackpool and stay in the hotel that someone had called a disgusting hovel on TripAdvisor. And I just said no, I really really don’t want to. It’s not because it’s a long way away, and it’s not because it probably is a hovel, and it’s not because my fella is at a conference and I would have to go through some kind of Challenge Anneka hell-trial to get the children looked after. It’s just because I really really really don’t want to.
This seemed to go down OK, and they got someone else to do it.
That felt amazing, for about half a day – like being gifted 12 hours to fill in any way I pleased. I could have done anything. I could have read A Fortunate Man, or watched Guys and Dolls with Marlon Brando, which I taped last Christmas. Instead I pissed it all away on Twitter, and felt the rest of the week feeling paranoid. It’s actually not a very good idea, bunking off work. You start to wonder why they don’t mind.
Before happy After first woo-hoo, then meh
Day six
Option 1 Explore a new part of your city. Notice the architecture, pop into interesting shops, take photos … Rejected because I already have the Knowledge. Seriously, I’m amazing.
Option 2 Forgive yourself for something – put it in writing, in a “letter of forgiveness”. If you struggle, imagine it is a friend who is writing to you. Be kind. Rejected because … hahahahahahaha.
Option 3 Learn to juggle.
There’s a little phrase I’ve just made up; I’m trying to put the finishing touches to it. It’s something about old animals, and how challenging they find it to learn new skills …
I can see the point of this: physically engrossing tasks provide a very particular relaxation, as your mind is freed on one level but immersed on another. However, throwing things and catching them is extremely hard. Without expert intervention, I didn’t have a hope. I just bust a load of satsumas. I guess I didn’t un-enjoy myself, though.
Before pretty darn happy After pretty darn happy
Day seven
Option 1 Skip rope. Rejected because my legs still hurt from the swing.
Option 2 Write a love song. It doesn’t have to be about your partner – it can be about your kids, a friend, your pet goldfish … Rejected because whenever I try to make up a song, it sounds like a vampire dirge out of Adventure Time.
Option 3 Play a board game.
Bonding for all the family, they say. Get away from an atomised life behind a screen, they tell you. I played Monopoly with my warmints, and it unfolded exactly as it used to in 1980. The seven-year-old bested the five-year-old. I felt sorry for the small one, and started to slip her extra cash. The big one went nuts and started yelling about fairness. I had to concede that, no, there was no internal system to my behaviour, no inalienable and open justice upon which we could all rely, just my whim and prejudice. The big one started winning again. The small one started crying. And it ended with me going: “Just hurry up and bankrupt us!” while the little one yelled: “You love him more than me.” It made feel quite nostalgic, actually.
Before pretty darn happy After woo-hoo!
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