Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reader's Choice 20th Anniversary Edition

by Jack Canfield

  In 2002 I began training to become a life coach. Many of my teachers and fellow classmates recommended the original Chicken Soup for the Soul book. I had heard of The New York Times bestseller, but I’d never read it. I figured I should read it if only to have the text “under my belt” as part of my personal-development knowledge base. I had read only thirty-seven pages when I came across the story that changed my outlook about the way I looked as I walked through the world: “The Smile.”

  Contributor Hanoch McCarty told the story of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, who wrote The Little Prince as well as a lesser-known piece, “The Smile,” that was possibly based on Saint-Exupéry’s own experience as a captured fighter pilot in the Spanish Civil War. The pilot, nervous and frightened because he’s certain he will be executed the next day, finds a cigarette in his pockets and asks his jailer for a light. The jailer agrees and comes forward with a match. As he gets closer, he looks at his prisoner and their eyes lock unexpectedly. The pilot smiles at him. In that moment it’s as though the prisoner, not the jailer, has ignited a light. The jailer warms to him. The two men begin to discuss their families and even share pictures. Later the jailer decides to release the pilot and lead him to safety. I remember being absolutely stunned by the words: “My life was saved by a smile.”

  McCarty goes on to say that when the pilot smiled it was a “magic moment when two souls recognize each other.” I recognized that moment too and to me it felt so full of hope and possibility. The next morning on my way to work I stopped in a deli and bought a cup of tea. When the server handed me the cup I smiled and said thank you. He stepped back and for a moment looked confused. Then he smiled and said, “I’ve been doing this all morning, but you’re the first person to smile at me.” I just nodded, smiled again and left.

  I couldn’t believe how good I felt — I actually felt more like myself! As I continued to smile throughout the days, weeks and months I noticed an amazing cycle: The more I smiled, the friendlier everything seemed; and the friendlier everything seemed, the more I smiled. It also seemed to me that the smiles I received in return were not just polite smiles. I felt a momentary connection with the person, as though we had come to an agreement that all was right with the world.

  Before reading McCarty’s story I had thought that a smile made me passive and powerless, and invited unwanted attention. Afterwards my view was just the opposite. Smiling gave me strength. I could change myself, and the people I encountered, by simply smiling. In fact over the years I’ve come to observe how, as Andy Andrews say in his book, The Traveler’s Gift, “My smile has become my calling card. It is, after all, the most potent weapon I possess.” Boxers lead with their left or right jabs. I lead with my smile.

  Here’s an example. Recently I became a substitute bus driver in my son’s school district. The more I drove the more I heard the other drivers complain about a new crossing guard, the person who controls the flow of traffic so the huge fleet of buses can get in and out of the school’s driveways quickly and safely. The guard, an older man, seemed unsure in his decision making, which often resulted in long lines of backed up traffic. Most days he looked harried and worried. He knew he wasn’t doing a good job. I would see buses pass by him with the drivers looking impatient, annoyed or downright angry. I wanted things to be different for the guard. I felt bad that all these people were sending such negativity in his direction.

  Then I realized I did have the power to change at least one interaction in his day. One morning when the crossing guard signaled me to pull into the school, I inched the bus forward. Then, just before I began my turn, I made eye contact, gave him a tiny wave and a big smile. He saw me. His face softened and something like relief washed over his features. He waved back with his own smile as I continued my turn.

  That’s it. That’s all it took. I knew I had made a difference in his day just by that one “magic moment” of connection. And even though I have yet to speak a word to this man, I know he recognizes me because we repeat this little ritual each time he sees me behind the wheel.

  Now, take that one moment and multiply it by the millions of times I’ve smiled since reading the Saint-Exupéry/McCarty story. That’s a lot of magic conjured by the spontaneous flashing of teeth. I can’t speak for the people who have been on the receiving end of these smiles, but I can say this for myself: my life is so much brighter, so much more joyous, that I can’t imagine how I lived without such light. I hope I can inspire others to share their happiness just as freely. I smile just thinking about it.

  ~Sophfronia Scott

  The Smile

  Smile at each other, smile at your wife, smile at your husband, smile at your children, smile at each other — it doesn’t matter who it is — and that will help you to grow up in greater love for each other.

  ~Mother Teresa

  Many Americans are familiar with The Little Prince, a wonderful book by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. This is a whimsical and fabulous book and works as a children’s story as well as a thought-provoking adult fable. Far fewer are aware of Saint-Exupéry’s other writings, novels and short stories.

  Saint-Exupéry was a fighter pilot who fought against the Nazis and was killed in action. Before World War II, he fought in the Spanish Civil War against the fascists. He wrote a fascinating story based on that experience entitled The Smile (Le Sourire). It isn’t clear whether or not he meant this to be autobiographical or fiction. I choose to believe it is the former.

  He said that he was captured by the enemy and thrown into a jail cell. He was sure from the contemptuous looks and rough treatment he received from his jailers that he would be executed the next day. From here, I’ll tell the story as I remember it in my own words.

  “I was sure that I was to be killed. I became terribly nervous and distraught. I fumbled in my pockets to see if there were any cigarettes that had escaped their search. I found one and because of my shaking hands, I could barely get it to my lips. But I had no matches; they had taken those.

  “I looked through the bars at my jailer. He did not make eye contact with me. After all, one does not make eye contact with a thing, a corpse. I called out to him ‘Have you got a light, por favor?’ He looked at me, shrugged and came over to light my cigarette.

  “As he came close and lit the match, his eyes inadvertently locked with mine. At that moment, I smiled. I don’t know why I did that. Perhaps it was nervousness, perhaps it was because, when you get very close, one to another, it is very hard not to smile. In any case, I smiled. In that instant, it was as though a spark jumped across the gap between our two hearts, our two human souls. I know he didn’t want to, but my smile leaped through the bars and generated a smile on his lips, too. He lit my cigarette but stayed near, looking at me directly in the eyes and continuing to smile.

  “I kept smiling at him, now aware of him as a person and not just a jailer. And his looking at me seemed to have a new dimension, too. ‘Do you have kids?’ he asked.

  “ ‘Yes, here, here.’ I took out my wallet and nervously fumbled for the pictures of my family. He, too, took out the pictures of his niños and began to talk about his plans and hopes for them. My eyes filled with tears. I said that I feared that I’d never see my family again, never have the chance to see them grow up. Tears came to his eyes, too.

  “Suddenly, without another word, he unlocked my cell and silently led me out. Out of the jail, quietly and by back routes, out of the town. There, at the edge of town, he released me. And without another word, he turned back toward the town.

  “My life was saved by a smile.”

  Yes, the smile — the unaffected, unplanned, natural connection between people. I tell this story in my work because I’d like people to consider that underneath all the layers we construct to protect ourselves, our dignity, our titles, our degrees, our status and our need to be seen in certain ways — underneath all that, remains the authentic, essential self. I’m not afraid to call it the soul. I really believe that if that part of you and that part of
me could recognize each other, we wouldn’t be enemies. We couldn’t have hate or envy or fear. I sadly conclude that all those other layers, which we so carefully construct through our lives, distance and insulate us from truly contacting others. Saint-Exupéry’s story speaks of that magic moment when two souls recognize each other.

  I’ve had just a few moments like that. Falling in love is one example. And looking at a baby. Why do we smile when we see a baby? Perhaps it’s because we see someone without all the defensive layers, someone whose smile for us we know to be fully genuine and without guile. And that baby-soul inside us smiles wistfully in recognition.

  ~Hanoch McCarty

  My Wakeup Call

  The struggle ends when the gratitude begins.

  ~Neale Donald Walsch

  The spring and summer of 2008 was a time that changed my life. I was sick during this time and no matter what I did I just wasn’t getting any better. I was scared to leave the house, I didn’t want to drive, I didn’t eat, my mind was spinning out of control and before I knew it I sank into a depression. I needed help and fast, as my life was in a downward spiral. I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with panic disorder. The doctor prescribed antidepressants and counseling. The first set of antidepressants did not work, so he gave me another prescription and between that prescription and counseling my condition dramatically improved. I was doing so well that my counselor successfully completed my program and my doctor weaned me off the medication.

  Let me now take you to the spring and summer of 2012. I relapsed, and although I wasn’t as sick as the first time, I felt like my world was coming to an end. All I kept thinking was “Why me?” and “What did I do to deserve this?” My attitude was so negative that it drove everyone around me crazy. I went back to the doctor and he put me back on the medication, but that is not what helped me get my act together. My help came from my friend and from a young woman I never met. I asked my friend to pick out my next book to read and she picked out Chicken Soup for the Soul: Find Your Happiness. I am really glad she picked that book because the first story, titled “My Epiphany,” by Angela Sayers gave me the attitude adjustment I needed.

  Angela was a remarkable young woman with an amazing attitude. She was terminally ill and the doctor didn’t give her a lot of time, but she did not let that stop her from living. She lived each day to the fullest and like it was her last. Although I never met her, she taught me a very valuable lesson. As I read her story, I reflected on my life. My illness was so minor, and yet I was acting like it was the end of the world. I realized that there were so many people out there that were sicker than me, but had a better attitude. I should have been happy that there was nothing seriously wrong with me and that I had all my body parts and that my organs functioned normally.

  I learned to accept that even though I have panic disorder, it does not have me. I have days when I feel down and depressed and there are even times when I feel my mind spinning out of control, but when I begin to feel like that I do two things: I talk to my friend because she is amazing and supportive, and I think about Angela and everything she went through and how courageous and positive she was. That is enough to bring a smile to my face and turn my attitude around real fast.

  ~Susan Elizabeth Smith

  My Epiphany

  With the past, I have nothing to do; nor with the future. I live now.

  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

  It seems that when something awful happens to me, my mind just shuts down. These things change the way I think for a period of time after they happen. Somehow, I find a way to keep it all together by reverting to my “one day at a time” motto, but really, inside, I’m freaking out. Sometimes I’m freaking out and I don’t even realize it yet. I’ve discovered lately that moving on from those difficult times really is a process.

  These days, I am in the final stages of my long battle with osteosarcoma, a bone cancer, which made its appearance when I was fourteen years old, claimed one of my lower legs and a lung along the way, and recently spread to my brain. The doctors found three or four new tumors in my brain. This news was a terrible blow since it meant two huge things. It meant that one, along with the nodules that I already had in my single lung, the Thalidomide I have been trying isn’t doing a single thing for me. And secondly it officially marked me as terminal. The doctors told us that they thought I probably had less than a month to live.

  It has now been longer than a month, and I am still here and still feeling well. Nothing has truly changed about my situation. I am still taking medication for the headaches, and sometimes my breathing is a lot more strained than it used to be. Although I do have a cold, which could be part of it, it’s most likely that the cancer is progressing. There is nothing in my situation that has changed. I know that I probably won’t make it, still. But there is something different now about the way I look at things. I feel different. I feel inspired! I feel invigorated! I don’t feel like I’m just sitting around waiting to die anymore. I feel infused with life. There’s a reason I have already beaten the odds. There’s a reason it’s not time yet.

  I don’t know what came first — the changes to my daily routine, or the changes to my perspective. But somehow they’re working together to be just what I needed. During the past week or so we’ve been making small changes to my medications since I’ve been doing so well. The first thing we did was drop the nausea medicine I’d been taking on a schedule with the pain medication. It turns out that I don’t really need it at all, since I haven’t had any nausea since. We also started weaning me off the steroid I’d been taking to control swelling, which makes me eat everything in sight and makes me swell up like a balloon. Somehow, and the only thing I can think to attribute it to, is that by getting rid of those two medications, I am feeling a little more like myself. I haven’t had to take a nap in ages! My eyes, which had been blurry and unfocused, are doing so well that I finished a book that I was reading . . . on my Kindle! My computer screen no longer tries to flip letters around. But that’s not all — a few days ago Mom convinced me to put my prosthetic leg on for a while. It didn’t take too much cajoling, since it was something I’d been meaning to try since I have been feeling better. It doesn’t quite fit right because I haven’t worn it in a month. Right now because I haven’t been wearing it, I have no leg muscle to even hardly hold it up. But I can kind of walk on it, with my crutches, and I have hope and faith that before long I’ll be able to use it again for a short time.

  I’m not sure where it came from, this sudden epiphany I’ve had. But something inside me has clicked. It reminds me of a story my pastor told me when he came by for a visit, about a man who was pronounced terminal. Another person asked him, “What are you doing right now?” And the man who was dying answered, “Well I’m terminal, I’m dying.” The first man either asked him again what he was doing right now or informed him somehow that he was wrong. The man who was terminal wasn’t dying just then, just at that moment he was living. And as long as he was breathing he would be living. That’s the epiphany I’ve had. Right now, regardless of the things to come, I’m living! I’m not sitting around waiting to die. My entire perspective has changed. I’m alive right now. I’m living.

  So, today I leave you with this message, one that I can hardly believe that I went this far without. Cherish every single day. It is one of those things that is easier said than done. The way that something feels is all about perspective. Sometimes our hearts don’t need a miracle. Sometimes there just aren’t any miracles and the world around us feels like there can never be any happiness in it again. I know how that feels. I have had some dark days these last few months. I won’t lie. It’s difficult to know that eventually I won’t feel good. It’s hard to know that essentially I’m just sitting around waiting for the cancer to progress.

  I can’t think like that anymore. I have to think about the things that I can do. The life that I can live. I may not be able to go on the ski trip this month, but I’m still doing better than expected. I�
��m still here. I’m still living. Life is precious, whether you have a straight road stretched before you as far as the eye can see, or whether, like most people, your road turns and bends into the undergrowth and you have no idea where it leads. Follow that bend, and your heart, no matter where it goes. Mine may go on, to places unmentionable, but everyone’s does, eventually. All roads lead to the same bend, and although we can’t see around the corner, I know there are people who have gone before me that will help me when I get there. But for now, I’m not there yet. Today I’m living, and my heart sings with joy for the days that follow.

  For anyone going through a difficult time, I want to pass on the list of ten steps that I composed. These steps have helped me move forward in the past. I’m not a professional and I have no claim to fame, but these steps have helped me and I want to share them with other people. Here are my Ten Steps to Moving Forward:

  1. Cry, Yell, and Grieve: The first step can make you feel like you are taking a few steps back, but it is necessary. I think when something happens that reroutes your entire life and the direction you were going previously, it is normal to grieve and be sad. Because I believe that whenever you go through a difficult time, it changes you. It changes the way you think and perceive things, and the first step to acceptance of the new reality, whatever it is, is to mourn the past and the person you used to be. So, let yourself grieve for as long as you need to, and when you’re able, you’ll find the next step.