The Happiness Project

by Gretchen Rubin

  Long ago, I read the writer Dorothea Brande’s warning that writers are too inclined to spend their time on wordy occupations like reading, talking, and watching TV, movies, and plays. Instead, she suggested, writers should recharge themselves with language-free occupations like listening to music, visiting museums, playing solitaire, or taking long walks alone. That made sense to me, and I’d sporadically tried to follow that advice. But during the period when I was preparing for my happiness project, while browsing in a bookstore, I had a glaringly obvious realization: for better or worse, what I loved to do was to read, to write, and to make books—really, if I was honest, to the exclusion of practically any other activity.

  A while back, a friend with three children mentioned to me, “On the weekends, I like a day when we all spend at least two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon playing outside.”

  “On the weekends,” I answered, “I like a day when we all lie around reading in our pajamas until after lunch.” True—but I felt bad about it. Why? Why did I think her inclinations were superior? Why do I feel guilty for lying around, “just reading”? Probably because that’s what comes most naturally to me. I wish I were different, that I had a wider range of interests. But I don’t. Now, though, it was time to be more thoughtful about pursuing my passion for reading and writing. To me, that sounded like a lot more fun than playing outside. (Of course, until Eleanor was older, mornings spent reading would be pure fantasy, but we’d had them before, and we’d have them again.)

  To keep this month’s resolution to “Pursue a passion,” I first had to recognize my passion. Done. My next step was to make time for it, to find ways to integrate my passion into my ordinary days, and to stop measuring myself against some irrelevant standard of efficiency. I also wanted to learn to master some of the new technology that makes bookmaking easy.

  Not everyone shares my particular passion, of course; instead of books, it might be college football, or community theater, or politics, or garage sales. But whatever your passion might be, happiness research predicts that making time for a passion and treating it as a real priority instead of an “extra” to be fitted in at a free moment (which many people practically never have) will bring a tremendous happiness boost.

  One thing I learned from my blog, however, was that some people feel overwhelmed by the question “What’s your passion?” It seems so large and unanswerable that they feel paralyzed. If so, a useful clue to finding a passion to pursue, whether for work or play, is to “Do what you do.” What you enjoyed doing as a ten-year-old, or choose to do on a free Saturday afternoon, is a strong indication of your passion. (One blog reader pointed to an even more basic indicator: “Actually very similar to advice from a physics professor of mine, who said, ‘What do you think about when you’re sitting on the toilet? Because that’s what you *want* to think about.’”) “Do what you do” is helpful because it points you to examining your behavior rather than your self-conception and therefore may be a clearer guide to your preferences.

  WRITE A NOVEL.

  My most ambitious project for the month was to write a novel. In thirty days. I’d never had the urge to run marathons or climb mountains, but the thought of completing a novel in a month filled me with the same kind of lust for the thrill of exertion. I wanted to find out whether I could do it.

  A while back, when I’d run into an acquaintance on the street, she’d mentioned that she was writing a novel in a month.

  “You are?” I asked, immediately intrigued. “How?”

  “I got this book, No Plot? No Problem! by Chris Baty. You start without any preparation, you don’t edit yourself, and by writing 1,667 words a day, you write a fifty-thousand-word novel in thirty days.”

  “Fifty thousand words?” I asked. “Is that long enough to be a real novel?”

  “That’s as long as The Catcher in the Rye or The Great Gatsby.”

  “Really? You know,” I said slowly, “I might try it, too.”

  “He also started National Novel Writing Month. That’s in November. Lots of people all over the country do it.”

  We were standing on a street corner one block from the Barnes & Noble at Union Square. “I’m going to buy the book right now,” I said, making up my mind. “I really am going to think about it.”

  I bought the book, and I came up with an idea: two people having an affair in Manhattan. I’d been reading Laurie Colwin, Roxana Robinson, and other novelists writing about the problems of middle marriage, and I wanted to think about the happiness and unhappiness consequences of a middle-marriage crisis like an affair. Also, I thought it would be fun to try to think through the logistics of how two people in the same social circle would keep their affair a secret and to write about New York City.

  On the first day of September, I typed HAPPINESS on the title page and wrote my first sentence: “When she thought about it later, Emily realized that she knew exactly when her affair with Michael Harmon had its start: about 8:00 p.m. on the night of September 18, at a cocktail party at Lisa and Andrew Kessel’s apartment.” And so on, for 1,667 words.

  Writing the novel was a lot of work, but I had less trouble squeezing the writing into my day than I’d expected. Of course I had it easier than most people, since I was already a full-time writer, but even so, I had to scrimp on time otherwise spent reading newspaper and magazines, meeting people for coffee, reading for fun, or generally puttering around. My blog posts became noticeably shorter.

  After the first ten days, I ran into a problem: I’d reached the end of my plot. I hadn’t thought of much action—Emily and Michael have lunch, they start an affair, they end their affair—and I’d already written most of that story before I’d hit even 25,000 words. Baty’s book promised that I wouldn’t have trouble coming up with more story, and somehow I kept going. And going. Each day, one way or another, I managed to eke out the minimum word requirement, until on September 30, I typed the sentence, “She’d do her shopping at a different drugstore. THE END.” I calculated the word count: 50,163 words. I’d finished a novel that was long enough to be a real book—as long as some of my favorite novels, like Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood and Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club.

  It was a huge amount of work, plunked on top of everything else I needed to accomplish in my days. Did it make me happy? It sure did. Writing Happiness took a lot of time and energy, it’s true, but it gave me a substantial boost in happiness. Tackling such a big project and carrying it through to the end in a single month contributed hugely to the atmosphere of growth in my life. It was thrilling to see what I could accomplish in a short time if I put my mind to it. Also, because I was always searching for material that could enrich the story, the world came alive to me in a new way. On my way home from the library one afternoon, I saw a large crowd milling around in front of the famous Frank E. Campbell Funeral Chapel. “This would make a great scene for my novel,” I thought.

  But perhaps the most acute source of happiness from writing was the happiness of expressing a very complicated idea—the kind of idea that takes hundreds of pages to capture. I remember the precise moment when the idea struck me. I’d been at a dinner party with several couples who lived in my neighborhood. I’d seen two of my friends engaged in an intense, surely innocent conversation, and I’d thought, “What if they were having an affair? How could they pull it off? What would happen?” Always before, it had taken me years to write books that I’d envisioned. This novel might not be very good, but I’d completed it in one month.

  As I’d seen in February with Extreme Nice, the boot-camp approach has many advantages. The brilliant Scott McCloud suggests a similar exercise, “The 24-Hour Comic,” in his book Making Comics: “Draw an entire 24-page comic book in a single 24-hour period. No script. No preparation…. Great shock therapy for the creatively blocked.” The boot-camp approach also gave me a sense of creative freedom, because I realized that when I had the uncontrollable urge to write a novel—a little-discussed but widespread occupati
onal hazard that affects many writers—I could just sit down and do it.

  And, to my surprise, writing Happiness was fun. Usually when I’m writing, I constantly question my work. With novel-writing month, I couldn’t take the time, and it was a relief to be free from my inner critic. As one friend told me, “Face it, your novel is probably terrible—but that’s okay!” This project helped me to keep my March resolution to “Enjoy the fun of failure.” After I’d written the 50,163rd word, I was immediately itching to go back and edit it—but I resisted. I didn’t even reread it. At some point, I will.

  Writing a novel provided the “atmosphere of growth” that, I was becoming more and more convinced, was essential to happiness; I’d included this element in my First Splendid Truth, but it was even more significant than I’d initially understood. The satisfaction gained from the achievement of a large undertaking is one of the most substantial that life affords. When I asked blog readers if tackling a big goal had ever brought them happiness, many people wrote to share their own experiences:

  * * *

  I took on a big commitment and surprised myself by completing it. I joined a youtube group called the 100 day reality challenge. I made a video blog every day for 100 days. I’d never made videos for youtube before but I had a camera that took movies. I set up the commitment to make me focus on something positive and share it every day. Doing a video every day was probably easier than just once a week just because it was a daily habit. Although the challenge was really about something called “the law of attraction” (which I didn’t myself manage to attract), I did find myself happier from having fun making the videos to making new friends though all the comments.

  I decided this would be the year I would train to do a sprint triathlon. I joined a team, worked out nearly every day for eight weeks, and after I completed the triathlon, I signed up to do a second one. I am typically a person who lies in bed and reads, but I always thought it would be good to do a tri before I turn 40 (two years away). It was terrific training, and I’d highly recommend doing a sprint triathlon if it’s something anyone’s ever thought about doing.

  I am learning Italian in less than 7 months. I was given the opportunity to do so, and I took it. I knew absolutely no Italian when I began the course, and just under 7 months from the start date, I will be fluent. I am only partway through, and I can already have conversations with native speakers. It’s a huge undertaking, and I have almost quit many times, but it is wonderful and fun, too.

  After coming out of depression I built my own wooden dinghy in about six weeks. I did it both as a symbol of victory and as part of the process. It made me very happy to finish, and the few times I had it on the water were all memorable experiences. In addition, owning the dinghy made me join a sailing club, which gives me access to a beautiful and peaceful site and brings me into contact with interesting people. All of this increases my happiness.

  I am writing a memoir. I started working part-time as a nurse so I could focus more on the writing, and I am very happy doing this. I would say I am about half way through the manuscript. What galvanized me into doing this was a life-altering illness that I went through. I spent months on crutches not knowing if I would ever walk again. Permanent disability was a real possibility. After you go through something like that, through a quagmire of despair, you let go of a lot. And you realize, experientially, that life is way too short NOT to follow your passion. So, that’s what I do these days.

  As I’m growing up, I’m learning how important doing what you love is to your happiness. My BIG goal is to find a way to make money doing what I love. I’m 22 and two years into the corporate world, but my passion is designing and making jewelry. I’m starting small making custom jewelry for family and friends, and I just launched an online shop at etsy.com. I’ve loved designing jewelry for a while, but only recently have I gotten the courage to truly chase after my passion. Although I’m nowhere near having a viable business, I hope to eventually! Sometimes it gets frustrating to see that my goal is just a tiny seed right now; but having a vision of what I want it to become keeps me motivated to just go for it without giving up! Working hard for something that you are passionate about is SO satisfying and adds so much genuine happiness to life.

  * * *

  You might experiment with new recipes, go camping in your fifteenth state park, plan a sixtieth birthday party, or watch your favorite team progress to the Super Bowl. I liked writing a novel.

  MAKE TIME.

  Although reading was one of my most important priorities and certainly one of my greatest pleasures, I never really gave it much thought. I wanted to make more time to read—more books, with more enjoyment. To do so, I gave myself permission to read at whim. Samuel Johnson observed, “If we read without inclination, half the mind is employed in fixing the attention; so there is but one half to be employed on what we read.” Science backs this up. When researchers tried to figure out what helped third-and fourth-graders remember what they read, they found that the students’ interest in a passage was far more important than the “readability” of the passage—thirty times more important.

  So between the books I read for happiness research, such as Jonathan Haidt’s The Happiness Hypothesis, Anne Lamott’s Plan B, and some biographies of Tolstoy, I threw in Lesley Lewis’s The Private Life of a Country House 1912–1939. Along the same lines, I let myself reread William Makepeace Thackeray’s Vanity Fair, Charlotte Yonge’s The Heir of Redclyffe, and Laura Ingalls Wilder whenever I had the urge, instead of steering myself to read something new. I’ve always thought that the best reading is rereading. I pushed myself to keep reading lists. I asked people for recommendations (as a side benefit, this turned out to be a relationship booster; people responded warmly when I wrote down their suggestions). On the advice of a fellow member of the children’s literature book group, I subscribed to Slightly Foxed, a charming British quarterly that publishes people’s essays about their favorite books, and I noted suggestions from the magazine The Week’s “The Book List” section.

  But the main hurdle keeping me from reading more wasn’t the problem of figuring out what to read but rather having enough time to read. No matter how much time I spent reading, I wanted more. Of course, whenever anyone complains of not having enough time, the first suggestion is always “Watch less TV.” Which makes sense—the average American spends between four and five hours watching TV each day.

  “Do you think we watch too much TV?” I asked Jamie.

  “We hardly watch any TV,” he said.

  “Well, we do watch some. What do you think, five or six hours a week? But we only watch what we’ve TiVo’d or from a DVD.”

  “I don’t think we should give up all TV,” he said. “TV is great—if you’re not watching in a stupid way.”

  He was right. It was fun to watch a show once the girls were asleep. Watching TV seemed more companionable than reading in the same room; I suppose the fact that we were sharing the same experience made it seem cozier.

  I did, however, vow to stop reading books that I didn’t enjoy. I used to pride myself on finishing every book I started—no longer. And just as I used to make myself finish every book, I used to keep every book I bought, and we had messy stacks on every surface of our house. I culled ruthlessly, and we dropped off several heavy bags of books at a thrift store. I also accepted my idiosyncratic reluctance to read any book (or see any play or movie) that centers on the theme of unjust accusation. I was never going to be able to force myself to read Oliver Twist, Othello, To Kill a Mockingbird, Atonement, A Passage to India, Burmese Days, Crime and Punishment, or Arthur and George if I could avoid it—and that was okay.

  FORGET ABOUT RESULTS.

  As I read, I love to take notes—often for no apparent reason. I’m always marking up books, making odd lists, gathering examples in strange categories, copying passages. For some reason, I like working on some permanent, undefined research project. I feel compelled to make lists of foreign words that describe conc
epts that English can’t convey ( flâneur, darshan, eudaimonia, Ruinensehnsucht, amae, nostalgie de la boue), explanations of concepts that I find queerly charged with significance (the Fisher King, the westerly road, Croatoan, Eleusinian Mysteries, offering of first-fruits, the hunting of the wren, the Corn-Spirit, sparagmos, the Lord of Misrule, cargo cult, Greek herm, potlatch, the Golden Ratio), and hundreds of other topics.

  Note taking takes a lot of time and energy, and I used to discourage this impulse in myself. It seemed pointless and self-indulgent. But following this month’s resolutions and my First Commandment to “Be Gretchen,” I allowed myself to “Forget about results” and take notes guilt-free.

  Perversely, it was only once I said to myself, “Okay, Gretchen, take all the notes you want, it doesn’t matter why,” that it occurred to me how useful these notes had been. My first book, Power Money Fame Sex, grew out of a huge body of notes. When I had a chance to write my book Profane Waste, about the question of why people would choose to destroy their possessions, I was able to pack the book with startling, apt examples because I’d been taking notes (for no discernible reason) for years. Because note taking didn’t look like “real work” to me, it didn’t register as valuable—even though it was.

  One thing that makes a passion enjoyable is that you don’t have to worry about results. You can strive for triumph, or you can potter around, tinker, explore, without worrying about efficiency or outcomes. Other people may wonder why you’ve been happy to work on the same old car for years, even though it’s still not running, but that doesn’t matter to you. An atmosphere of growth brings great happiness, but at the same time, happiness sometimes also comes when you’re free from the pressure to see much growth. That’s not surprising; often, the opposite of a great truth is also true.