What would life be like if I hadn’t tried my hardest to be happy?

A fat yellow moon is rising in the violet sky. Jazz is on the stereo, the fire is snapping and I’m sipping vanilla tea and munching a cookie still warm from the oven. I am so proud of myself. Today I woke up happy again despite a week of illness. Saturday a week ago I’d had a wonderful day. The dog and I had driven out through the sunshine (the dog wisely leaving the driving to me) to a reserve on the banks of the Waikato River. We’d parked among massive, leafless trees glowing in the sunlight. The dog had acted like a real dog, chasing sticks, retrieving balls, cavorting among the dead leaves and I’d done way too much exercise. After coffee with a friend I’d taken him for another big walk at Hamilton Gardens and by the time I got home I was exhausted. As a result I was ill last week, with two full day in bed.

Which is why I’m so proud of myself. Despite being ill and house bound much of last week I woke up happy every. Partly it was having such a great Saturday. But I also did a good job of talking back to my anxious, catastrophizing thoughts about money, health and the future. So not only have I felt happy but I’ve achieved a fair bit, despite being sick.

This is the payoff for all my work building new behaviours and thinking patterns, learning how to reduce my depression and increase my happiness. Even when I have a bad day I have so many ways to make myself feel better that I know sure it’s not going to last. And the good days outweigh the bad by a large ratio. Sometimes I think about how many minutes, hours, days, weeks and months of happiness I would have missed if I hadn’t gone down this track, picking myself up every time I fell over, determined to master the happiness habit. Life wouldn’t have been much fun. In fact I doubt I would be here at all.