How to be Happy

Incredible!

There’s something missing.

You sense it even when you’re not entirely sure what it is.

It nags at you like something you’re meant to remember and just can’t quite access from the recesses of your mind’s vast storage system.

You’re sitting there taking in a story — a book in your hands, in front of your TV, or in an uncomfortable theater seat — and you’re just not buying it. Maybe you’re not even sure why, but something’s just not working for you.

What’s missing? Credibility.

Credibility is “the quality or power of inspiring belief.”

And we want to believe.

As a reader or a moviegoer we participate in the “willing suspension of disbelief.”

The phrase “willing suspension of disbelief” has come to be widely applied to a reader’s or viewer’s participation in fiction, but it was coined in 1817 by the poet and aesthetic philosopher Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Coleridge posited that if a writer could infuse a “human interest and a semblance of truth” into a fantastic tale, the reader would suspend judgment concerning the implausibility of the narrative.

Fiction has been defined as “a lie that tells the truth.” And, like all myths and enduring tales, its credibility comes from the credibility of telling the truth—not necessarily literal, factual truth, but human truth and the semblance of truth in every scene and scenario, in a character’s motivations and actions.

Credibility is missing from much of the trite, transient fiction we consume — in movies, on TV, even in too many of our novels.         

I remember recommending a novel to a friend many, many years ago and him saying when he returned it that “it was OK, but not much happened.” He may or may not have been right about how much happened in the novel, but I do know this — what did happen in the book was credible, was honest and true.

The problem we have with credibility is not just in our entertainment, but our culture at large. We have so-called journalists making a mockery of unbiased reporting, who instead of credible (there’s that word again) sources say “people say” or “some people say.”

We have so little credibility left these days we just expect to be lied to. We assume politicians lie. We expect attorneys to lie. We know that businesses lie — both about their products and their bottom line.

We have special effects capabilities that ooh and aah. We call them “incredible” because they are. They lack credibility. They leave us empty and malnourished because our souls need true, credible stories about recognizably human beings in credibly portrayed plots.

I wanted to like Fox TV’s “The Following.” I like Kevin Bacon. I liked the early writing of Kevin Williamson. And I like smart, well-made thrillers. But from the very beginning, the show has strained credibility — and it’s only gotten worse. The show’s makers are coming up with cool plot twists, but they’re not then asking themselves how to make them credible. They’ve come up with some interesting characters, but again, they’re not keeping them credible.

This reminds me of something Ian Malcolm said in “Jurassic Park” about cloning dinosaurs: “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.”

The writers of “The Following,” like so many others, are so preoccupied with whether they can create certain characters and scenarios that they haven’t stopped to ask if they should.

That’s why I find “Jurassic Park,” a story about cloning dinosaurs far, far more credible than “The Following.”

Let the greedy, money and power hungry politicians and CEOs and attorneys lie to us, but not our storytellers.

Story matters. We start telling true, credible stories and we’ll begin to demand and get more credibility and truth from our corporations, politicians, journalists, religious leaders, teachers, and ultimately ourselves.

How to be Happy

Are you happy?

If not you can be. If so, you can be happier.

You can be deeply, profoundly happy. It’s up to you.

Real happiness isn’t momentary, random, circumstantial—something you happen to stumble into occasionally. It’s an approach to life, a way of being, a moment by moment practice.

True happiness is a state of contentment, satisfaction, and pleasure—a deep, enduring sense of well-being and abiding joy. It’s being our best selves, who we’re meant to be, living fulfilling, meaningful, soulful lives. 

And we have to work for it.

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of “Eat, Pray, Love,” said, “People tend to think that happiness is a stroke of luck, something that will descend like fine weather if you're fortunate. But happiness is the result of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly.”

Do you want to be happy? Really? Truly? Happy?

Then you have to work at it, practice it, participate relentlessly in it. Make happiness a habit. You can you know. It’s up to you.

Happiness, true zenful peace, contentment, and joy are within your reach.

Research suggests that when it comes to happiness 50% is set (a result of genetics, etc.), 10% is circumstantial (a result of your job, bank account, where and how you live), but 40% is completely determined by us (by our approach to life, by our choices, by our cultivating our own contentment.

Think about it. A large portion of your personal happiness is completely up to you. If you’re not happy, you can be.

Here’s the key: You will only have the happiness you think you deserve and that you’re willing to work for. If consciously or subconsciously you don’t think you deserve to be happy you won’t let yourself be happy. 

The only difference between those who live with a sense of love, worthiness, and belonging and those who don’t is those who do believe they are worthy of love and belonging and those who don’t, don’t.

If you don’t live with a sense of worthiness and belonging, reprogramming what you believe and how you think is crucial to you becoming truly, deeply happy.

If you believe yourself worthy of happiness, of love and belonging, and yet still aren’t consistently happy, chances are what you need is a change of approach, to begin making small adjustments, to start working harder or smarter or both on your habits of happiness.

You can be happy. It’s up to you.

There are many ingredients to being happy. Here’s just one.

Connection.

To be truly happy, you must be connected.

True connection is the result of vulnerability and authenticity. We can only connect at the deepest levels when we are our most genuine and when we create a safe place for others to be their most genuine with us.

We were created to connect. We need connection. We thrive on it.

Begin connection more deeply with others today. Be your most authentic and accept them fully and unconditionally as they do the same.

Be and not seem—as Emerson said.

Share yourself with others, let them share themselves with you and watch your happiness multiply.

 All who joy would win Must share it -- Happiness was born a twin. ― George Gordon Byron, Don Juan

All Fall Down

Sunday night at the 85th Academy Awards, Jennifer Lawrence tripped on her way up to receive the Oscar for best actress.

40 million people saw the 22-year-old fall.

She fell. She got up. She continued. She received a standing ovation.

“You guys are just standing up because you feel bad I fell and that’s really embarrassing, but thank you,” she said in what was the beginning of an evening of charming and disarming statements.

The actress, who I knew was something special when I first encountered her in “Winter’s Bone,” handled her fall about as well as anyone could — with grace and good humor.

My hope is that you and I will handle our falls as well.

The question is not whether we’re going to fall. It’s how are we going to handle our falls.

We all fall. We trip. We stumble. We fall. And every time we do, we’re presented with an opportunity. 

Every fall can be a fall from or a fall into grace.

It’s up to us, dependent on our response, our openness, our perception, our attitude.

Ultimately we’ll all take the big fall, the one we can’t get up from, but until then we get to rehearse, to prepare, to practice the fine art of falling, of experiencing grace, of getting back up, of falling again, of falling better.

I’m reminded of the Dwyane Wade commercial from a few years ago — the one that shows him taking fall after fall as he drives in toward the rim and ends with these works on the screen: Fall down seven times; stand up eight.

I’m also reminded of Derek Redmond, who at the ’92 Olympics was forced to stop in the middle of his run of the 400-meter due to a snapped hamstring. When he fell to the ground in pain, stretcher-carrying medics made their way toward him, but determined to finish, Derek got back up and began to hobble in an attempt to at least cross the finish line. However, it was obvious there was no way he could finish the race. Then, out of nowhere, an older man jogs up beside Derek, hoisting his arm over his shoulder and helping the agonizing athlete. The man’s name was Jim — Jim Redmond, Derek’s father, and he had broken through security and onto the track to help his son. Derek Redmond didn’t finish first or second or third — or at all, according to the official Olympic books — but he and his father crossed the finish line and completed the race.

 It’s not just how we respond to our own falls, but the falls of others that determines our grace. Jim Redmond jumped in and saved his son. The audience at the Oscars stood and cheered on Jennifer Lawrence.

Finding grace for the falls of others might be even more of a challenge than finding it for ourselves, but finding it in our falls is a great way start — loving ourselves the first step in loving our neighbors as ourselves.

All falls aren’t physical. And they’re not all on the way to receive a life-changing award — something I can only imagine must cushion the fall and make much easier the rise.

I took a tumble this week. It was not physical. It was not on the way to receive an award. It was not graceful or anything but ugly. It was a failure of compassion and kindness in my thoughts — the place where all such things begin — and I am disappointed in myself.

Like Lawrence I lost focus for a moment, missed a step, tripped on my own ridiculous encumbrances, and I fell. Unlike Lawrence my fall wasn’t cute or endearing and I didn’t bounce right back up, but like her and Wade and the Redmonds and you, I will find the grace, I will get back up, I will fall a little better next time.
And I’ll use a 22-year-old actress who won an Academy Award for playing crazy as part of my inspiration. 

Michael Lister is a writer living in Panama City. More information on him is available at www.MichaelLister.com.