a little something

a lot happy

Having settled, mostly, into the new house— enough to sit peacefully and slightly proud at the end of the day, cicadas and frogs chanting, and call it my home— I’m inspired by a surprising recollection. It’s a pushy one and while not excruciating to remember, definitely a little amazing.

Those long-term readers of knowing thyself— thank you!— may recall my early affinity for Nietzsche. (I wonder if Nietzsche imagined 13-year old girls wondering over him?) My dad seemed to be a fan, resorting to playful nihilism when I most needed an attitude adjusted. Fun in our household originated in this Nietzchean challenge: ‘what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.’ I wrote about our hijinx here:

Later, and this relates to the memory that’s come up, I read Thus Spoke Zarathustra, a dog-eared hardcover I carried in my bag for months as a teenager. Zarathustra instructed me as follows: happiness arises as we rise to accept life… in all its fullness.

It’s the full-hearted yes to joy that follows despair. It’s the willingness to dance wildly through wildly shifting seasons. It’s an appreciation of every wound for the strength and character of our scars, and their brilliance.

We can’t seek it but every choice opens a space for it, if our choices arise from honest self-love.

new friends around every bend.

But what, exactly, does self-love entail? I’ve watched Marines like my dad shudder at the concept… then cry. I’ve also listened to full-on flower-power hippies tell me how self-love is an indulgence. So, I’d like to clarify in preparation for a practice of little things to love.

First, self-love is only truly loving when it’s honest. This means it welcomes the imperfections, weaknesses, and failures as fingers pointing toward potential. They aren’t fingers that say, ‘we’re number one!’ nor do they flip us the bird. They simply show us the work to be done. In this way, I suppose, self-love is hopeful.

Second, self-love laughs— gently, softly— at our egoic deceptions. Maybe you’ve known this one? ‘It’s not my fault that I feel this way!" Or, ‘if everyone else could operate like I do, I could be at peace.’ I like this one: ‘this makes me feel terrible.’

Of course, nothing wrong with feeling. But it’s us doing the feeling. And that’s the point. Our honest self-love acknowledges our part in the feeling, and takes responsibility. Still, usually, we prefer to point the finger elsewhere.

So let’s have a little giggle at the ways we protect ourselves from things happening. Because that’s all that’s happening. Just a happening. The way we perceive a happening is often much worse that the happening’s true effect on us. As in, if we take every injustice in the world personally, we will feel horribly brutalized. We may even feel that brutality as we sit in our safe living rooms, eating food we paid to have made and delivered, while watching youtube shorts on yoga.

Well. We’re all pretty hilarious.

Finally, true self-love makes wise investments in self-care. And here’s where my memory comes up.

On my first trip overseas— I was 19 and I went on my own to Thailand, Malaysia, then Japan— I found three friends from Manchester, England. Of course, I fell in love with the tall, laughing one but that’s another story. His friend, also handsome but frantic, was called Jules, and he took me all over Penang. Jules was a drug dealer who made heaps of money for his trip and felt that it was the only plausible profession for anyone of our generation. While his friends studied massage and learned about curry, he smoked rollies with old Malaysian men on the corner. He thrilled for strange encounters so we wandered into a few of the old men’s homes and enjoyed a lot of family meals.

At some point, I told him that his funny ways entertained me more than any drugs I’d taken. He fell out of his chair, scrambled on all fours across the floor, and hid himself in the guesthouse for an hour. Later, he came back to tell me that he’d never received a kinder compliment. He said, ‘I uncovered some true happiness.’

The arising of the memory follows a pastor’s suggestion at church that we find someone nearby and tell them how good they look. I told a young man behind me how awesomely handsome he is. He said, ‘oh well, and you’re very pretty too.’ Of course, we are now best friends. Later, I told a woman near the coffee that she looked radiant. Just then, her grandson came bounding into her legs and we both smiled at her beaming joy, and his.

More happiness.

Here’s what Zarathustra says on this topic.

Precisely the least thing, the gentlest, lightest, the rustling of a lizard, a breath, a moment, a twinkling of the eye - little makes up the quality of the best happiness. Soft!

And so, inspired by my old friend Jules, my good-looking friends in new places, and old ideas bubbling up from warm heart spaces, I offer the following practice of self-love.

Start a daily collection of tiny, good things. Write these things down. Let your inventory be a counterpoint to complaint and all of the looming bad news juicing media moguls and your anxiety. You might even dare to share your collection with others. For example, here! Or by text. Or make a sign daily and carry it around. Make demonstrations great again. As you wish!

Here’s what I’ve collected today: that one pine tree keeps leaning and leaning; yoga students generate true love; new wellness classes are welcome at the community center; my body loves motion; my mom and I laugh over stock picks; my partner’s eyes are soft; the cicadas and frogs have so much to say; life bends; humans are beautiful.

That means you.

I love you, beautiful creature.

Next week, we’ll consider a practice of welcoming our imperfections. Oh, those flaws. They delight our soul.