The days are long, but the years are short.

Today, a former colleague, whom I haven’t seen in years, stops by my office. A high school friend and I run into each other at the yoga studio. News of another high school classmate is posted on Facebook; a tragic car accident taking his life. Their names and faces, the sound of their voices, all still so familiar.

Indeed, the years are short. And while the days can seem neverending, they’re far from unlimited. I caught a commercial on TV recently–for Michigan tourism of all things–emphasizing that all we get is 25,000 mornings–give or take. 25,000 may sound like a lot, but that only 68 years. So why waste a single one?

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©2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. (Photo by Karl Gunnarsson via Creative Commons.)

I’m a champion list-maker. I find the process of writing something down, doing it, and checking it off so incredibly satisfying. What I don’t enjoy, however, is that for every item I complete, three more seem to take its place. And there are only so many hours in a day. And I’m just one person. And . . . and . . . well, all that doing gets exhausting.

Ironically, for a good two-plus years, my someday-maybe list has included “draft my own happiness commandments, a la Gretchen Rubin.” (It’s amazing how many fun, meaningful things on the someday-maybe list get brushed aside in favor of practical, boring things–like laundry and taxes–isn’t it?)

Fast forward to today: I finally made the time to create my happiness commandments list. What I love most about this exercise is that there isn’t a single task in sight. Everything on the happiness commandments list is meant to stay on this list. To-bes, not to-dos. And while I do love drawing a line through all those completed tasks, I’m quite alright with letting these 12 items stand.

So, without further ado . . . my list.

1. Everything counts.
2. You don’t have to. You get to.
3. Invest in love–and invest in life. (And vice versa.)
4. Quality not quantity.
5. Great–not just good.
6. Avoid crinkly things.
7. Just do it.
8. No apologies, no regrets.
9. Rest your head.
10. Everything is a miracle.
11. Flap your wings.
12. Foresake comparison.

Like Lucy, there’s some ‘splainin to do on each of these. But for now, I can say that I’ve written my happinesss commandments–and cross that off of my to-do list.

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©2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because making lists–on heavy weight, wide-ruled paper with a fine point Sharpie pen (preferably blue)–makes me happy. (Photo by donireewalker via Creative Commons.)

“For each hour of regular exercise you get, you’ll gain about two hours of additional life expectancy.”
–American Heart Association

“Where you invest your love, you invest your life.”
–Mumford & Sons, “Awake My Soul”

Each thought is profound on its own. Invest in your life–for your heart’s sake. Invest in your heart–for your life’s sake. But together? They deliver a terrific jolt of present-moment awareness.

The secret to living the biggest, richest life possible? Hit the gym. Unroll your yoga mat. Chase the puck. Romp around the park with the dogs. Take a long walk. Speak from your heart. Pursue your dreams. Teach. Listen. Say I love you. Make the time. Rinse, lather, repeat.

*~*~*~*~

P.S. Here’s where you can find that stat from the American Heart Association–and a youtube link to “Awake My Soul.”

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©2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because it’s never to late to begin investing in yourself. (Photo by Makena G via Creative Commons.)

Around this time every year, I paint my toes red. Not for Valentine’s Day (at least not directly) but in honor of my old college friend, Ashley. So that I can remind myself of the way she approached everybody with open arms–literally–admininstering hugs liberally. The way her eyes sparkled with sincerity. The way her rhythm of speech drew you in.  The way she made everybody feel like they were her best friend. That’s what love is all about.

Candy and roses and heart-shaped jewelry are sweet. But if you really love someone, show it in your eyes, your smile, and your actions.

So, when I look down at my shiny red painted toes, I think of Ashley. Her fiancé, Joey, told me that she had just painted hers for Valentine’s Day. He shared this fact with everybody who paid their respects that blustery February day.

And whenever I see a stained glass window and the sun is filtering through as bright as it was in that Doylestown church 15 years ago, I think of Ashley. And I remember the little symbol on her license that made it possible for for her heart to go on beating.

______________________________________________________________________________  © 2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because her plan always was to teach. (Photo by annieeleighh via Creative Commons.)

To say it has been a busy year is an understatement. Though when isn’t it a busy year? Or week or day or evening . . .

Busy is fine. Good, even. I thrive on it. However, when being busy gets in the way of living–well, sometimes something’s gotta give. You can’t wait forever. You can’t keep saying, “when I have more time.” Oldest excuse in the book.

But what about when everything that’s on your plate belongs on your plate? Or maybe you just like having it there–wedged right in between this, that, that, and . . .um . . . the other thing. Sometimes, the only solution is to just add another course on to this feast that is life. Make room and dig in.

_________________________________________________________________________  © 2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because while patience might be a virtue, procrastination–not so much. (Photo by malfleen via Creative Commons.)

I hear the sound of an orchestra tuning, and decades-old memories of sending out the concert C come rushing back. Creating a sonorous slice through the audience’s chatter with my oboe, followed by the hush. The anticipation. Theirs. Mine. Ours. A symphony unto itself.

Long skirts and crisp white blouses at Alice Tully Hall. Matching blazers and Russian Christmas Music at Woolsey Hall. Sharing pizzas in New Haven. Soaking my reeds in one of my father’s old film canisters. Humming melodies. Dreaming of the Boston Pops.

This jumble of noise, the vibration of everybody matching their pitch to me, filled me with equal parts fear and confidence. Leading the pack and blending in all at once.

Even though my orchestra years are long behind me, it’s a role I find myself still playing to this day, in work and in life. I set the foundation and then retreat, only to occasionally and precisely–deliberately–be heard.

Swells and dips. Crescendo and pianissimo. Quality not quantity. Always.

_________________________________________________________________________  © 2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because resonance is multisensory. 

I still believe that less is more. But sometime less is, well, less.

But “less” and “more” are not apples to apples. It’s more like apples to rambutans. Or apples to kangaroo jerky. (Not that I’ve ever tried kangaroo jerky. Or a rambutan for that matter.)

I’ve written less, but I’ve worked more.

I’ve written less, but I’ve baked and cooked a lot more.

I’ve written less, but I’ve read more.

I’ve written less, but I’ve watched more HGTV. And TLC. Bravo, too. (Darn Housewives and their over the top, un-relatable melodramas.)

Less and more. Apples and rambutans. Writing and working and everything else. They need not be exclusive. They can not be exclusive. There’s room for it all.

It’s about balance. Taking a million (or more) teeny, tiny steps in the right direction. Saying no to the good–in order to make room for the great.

Oldest lesson in the book? Almost. Am I willing to give it another run? You bet.

_________________________________________________________________________  © 2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because Rome wasn’t built in a day, ya know? (Photo by semuthutan via Creative Commons.)

I gave away the pretty, little emerald ring that my high school/college sweetheart gave to me for Christmas. It was a lovely ring—not tremendously fancy, but full of sentiment. It has been nearly 15 years since we parted ways. And for just as long, that little ring has sat unworn in my jewelry box. An unfortunate fate for something so pretty. 

So, after thinking about it for a few years, I decided it was time to find this ring a new home. Time to pass along the joy I experienced when I received this ring myself. Knowing it could brighten someone else’s holiday meant more to me than holding onto it. An energetic exchange. 

After posting an ad in the Free section on Craigslist, I received an e-mail from a mother whose family had recently lost all of their possessions in a house fire. Everyone escaped without harm; however, all of their creature comforts and sentimental belongings were lost. Perhaps this ring will begin a new collection of sentimental possessions. 

Her daughter, the soon-to-be owner of my ring, is a 12-year-old girl with sparkly eyes, slender fingers, and a wide smile. She came by my house with her father and younger brother to pick up a comfy leather chair and some holiday decorations that I was also giving away. Little did she know, in the pocket of her dad’s Patriots sweatshirt, was a small box containing something sparkly and special, especially for her. Her mother planned to put it under the Christmas tree with a note saying it was sent from an angel. 

I could rattle off a hundred reasons why I’m anything but an angel. I’m just been fortunate over the years to have bought and received a lot of lovely things, for which I am oh so grateful. 

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because gratitude goes both ways. 

All I want for Christmas is a Christmas card. Yes, a card. With a pretty picture on the front and words, penned by you, on the inside.

Heartfelt thoughts. Well wishes. Future plans. A remember-when story. Whatever feels right. Whatever feels true.

Sure, I like things. Cozy sweaters, sparkly jewelry, and decorative knick-knacks. I do. But really, I have plenty. Your words, however, are one of a kind. Something I can treasure forever.

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because our mailboxes should be fillied with joy, not junk mail. (Photo by Aunt Owwee via Creative Commons.)

Oh, Pandora—you sneaky l’il matchmaker, you. Thank you for acquainting me with Ray LaMontagne. With Nickel Creek. Mick McAuley, too.

You noticed that I keep giving the thumbs-up to the artists with smoky, bluesy voices who bring a catchy beat to their tunes. Iron & Wine. The Swell Season. Joshua Radin. Bonus points for eloquent lyrics and the dips and swells of a violin accompaniment. Soulful music that catches me off guard and settles into me, deep. Transports me. Gives structure to feeling. Humbles me.

  “Don’t look for love in faces, places. It’s in you, that’s where you’ll find kindness.”                      –Ray LaMontagne

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© 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because beauty is multisensory.