Gretchen Rubin - The Happiness Project: Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun

S AMUEL J OHNSON : As the Spanish proverb says, He, who would bring home the wealth of the Indies, must carry the wealth of the Indies with him.

JAMES BOSWELL , THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON

There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

A happiness project is an approach to changing your life. First is the preparation stage, when you identify what brings you joy, satisfaction, and engagement, and also what brings you guilt, anger, boredom, and remorse. Second is the making of resolutions, when you identify the concrete actions that will boost your happiness. Then comes the interesting part: keeping your resolutions.

This book is the story of my happiness projectwhat I tried, what I learned. Your project would look different from mine, but its the rare person who cant benefit from a happiness project. To help you think about your own happiness project, I regularly post suggestions on my blog, and Ive also created a Web site, the Happiness Project Toolbox, that provides tools to help you create and track your happiness project.

But I hope that the most compelling inspiration for your happiness project is the book you hold in your hands. Of course, because its the story of my happiness project, it reflects my particular situation, values, and interests. Well, you might think, if everyones happiness project is unique, why should I bother to read about her project?

During my study of happiness, I noticed something that surprised me: I often learn more from one persons highly idiosyncratic experiences than I do from sources that detail universal principles or cite up-to-date studies. I find greater value in what specific individuals tell me worked for them than in any other kind of argumentand thats true even when we seem to have nothing in common. In my case, for example, I would never have supposed that a witty lexicographer with Tourettes syndrome, a twenty-something tubercular saint, a hypocritical Russian novelist, and one of the Founding Fathers would be my most helpful guidesbut so it happened.

I hope that reading the account of my happiness project will encourage you to start your own. Whenever you read this, and wherever you are, you are in the right place to begin.

I d always vaguely expected to outgrow my limitations.

One day, Id stop twisting my hair, and wearing running shoes all the time, and eating exactly the same food every day. Id remember my friends birthdays, Id learn Photoshop, I wouldnt let my daughter watch TV during breakfast. Id read Shakespeare. Id spend more time laughing and having fun, Id be more polite, Id visit museums more often, I wouldnt be scared to drive.

One April day, on a morning just like every other morning, I had a sudden realization: I was in danger of wasting my life. As I stared out the rain-spattered window of a city bus, I saw that the years were slipping by. What do I want from life, anyway? I asked myself. WellI want to be happy . But I had never thought about what made me happy or how I might be happier.

I had much to be happy about. I was married to Jamie, the tall, dark, and handsome love of my life; we had two delightful young daughters, seven-year-old Eliza and one-year-old Eleanor; I was a writer, after having started out as a lawyer; I was living in my favorite city, New York; I had close relationships with my parents, sister, and in-laws; I had friends; I had my health; I didnt have to color my hair. But too often I sniped at my husband or the cable guy. I felt dejected after even a minor professional setback. I drifted out of touch with old friends, I lost my temper easily, I suffered bouts of melancholy, insecurity, listlessness, and free-floating guilt.

As I looked out the blurry bus window, I saw two figures cross the streeta woman about my age trying simultaneously to balance an umbrella, look at her cell phone, and push a stroller carrying a yellow-slickered child. The sight gave me a jolt of recognition: thats me, I thought, there I am. I have a stroller, a cell phone, an alarm clock, an apartment, a neighborhood. Right now, Im riding the same crosstown bus that I take across the park, back and forth. This is my lifebut I never give any thought to it.

I wasnt depressed and I wasnt having a midlife crisis, but I was suffering from midlife malaisea recurrent sense of discontent and almost a feeling of disbelief. Can this be me? Id wonder as I picked up the morning newspapers or sat down to read my e-mail. Can this be me? My friends and I joked about the beautiful house feeling, when, as in the David Byrne song Once in a Lifetime, wed periodically experience the shock of thinking This is not my beautiful house.

Is this really it ? I found myself wondering, and answering, Yep, this is it.

But though at times I felt dissatisfied, that something was missing, I also never forgot how fortunate I was. When I woke up in the middle of the night, as I often did, Id walk from one room to another to gaze at my sleeping husband tangled in the sheets and my daughters surrounded by their stuffed animals, all safe. I had everything I could possibly wantyet I was failing to appreciate it. Bogged down in petty complaints and passing crises, weary of struggling with my own nature, I too often failed to comprehend the splendor of what I had. I didnt want to keep taking these days for granted. The words of the writer Colette had haunted me for years: What a wonderful life Ive had! I only wish Id realized it sooner. I didnt want to look back, at the end of my life or after some great catastrophe, and think, How happy I used to be then, if only Id realized it.

I needed to think about this. How could I discipline myself to feel grateful for my ordinary day? How could I set a higher standard for myself as a wife, a mother, a writer, a friend? How could I let go of everyday annoyances to keep a larger, more transcendent perspective? I could barely remember to stop at the drugstore to buy toothpasteit didnt seem realistic to think that I could incorporate these high aims into my everyday routine.

The bus was hardly moving, but I could hardly keep pace with my own thoughts. Ive got to tackle this, I told myself. As soon as I have some free time, I should start a happiness project. But I never had any free time. When life was taking its ordinary course, it was hard to remember what really mattered; if I wanted a happiness project, Id have to make the time. I had a brief vision of myself living for a month on a picturesque, windswept island, where each day I would gather seashells, read Aristotle, and write in an elegant parchment journal. Nope, I admitted, thats not going to happen. I needed to find a way to do it here and now . I needed to change the lens through which I viewed everything familiar.

All these thoughts flooded through my mind, and as I sat on that crowded bus, I grasped two things: I wasnt as happy as I could be, and my life wasnt going to change unless I made it change. In that single moment, with that realization, I decided to dedicate a year to trying to be happier.

I made up my mind on a Tuesday morning, and by Wednesday afternoon, I had a stack of library books teetering on the edge of my desk. I could hardly find room for them; my tiny office, perched on the roof of our apartment building, was already too crowded with reference materials for the Kennedy biography I was writing, mixed with notices from my daughter Elizas first-grade teacher about class trips, strep throat, and a food drive.

I couldnt just jump into this happiness project. I had a lot to learn before I was ready for my year to begin. After my first few weeks of heavy reading, as I toyed with different ideas about how to set up my experiment, I called my younger sister, Elizabeth.