happiness...

Deborah, over at the Temptation of Words, tagged me last week to post my views on ‘happiness’. Though I have never met Deborah, I believe her to be a sensitive, warm, introspective person, who is also gregarious, strong, dedicated, honest and full of life. She is also a fabulous writer and a joy to read. Please visit her blog and see for yourself.

A woman once shared with me that she knew her husband was cheating months before their parting of ways. The natural question was evident. How did that make you feel? Her reply was less evident however, as she said, ‘each day for the remaining weeks I scrubbed the toilet with his toothbrush, and that made me happy.’ This kind of happiness is certainly unlike any delivered by the tooth fairy.

It does serve as a reminder, however, that happiness is diverse. It is available in many assorted shapes, sizes, colors, flavors and tones. In some sense, at the surface level, reflecting on happiness seems best done as a word game that mental health professionals might want to utilize.

A sample association might start with happiness is a first kiss, a second date, or great sex. It’s a 5 0’clock whistle, a bully boss getting fired or me winning the lottery. Maybe it’s the wish-list come true, the journey, or the stops along the way. I could say it is hard to define, yet easy to know. I’m certain that saying happiness is doing my best and letting go of the rest would be of interest to a therapist. How about a vacation, water skiing, sky diving or snowboarding? May I be allowed to pursue happiness as a sports scholarship for my son and a music scholarship for my daughter? Dare it be a measure of revenge or must I do the right thing? I love happiness as an old friend, and a new friend. It also works well as a shoulder to lean on. It is running, reading, gardening, a musical instrument, or whatever the passion. It is thriving over surviving. It’s a baby’s first words and first steps. It is learning to ride a two wheeler, and getting back in the saddle when mishaps occur. Happiness can be a pet named Zoey or Oscar. And I think it is always a signpost when I am lost. Happiness, of this assortment, is packaged with no wrong answers, just revelations.

Aside from the examples of bumper sticker comparable lines, possibly tossed about with a shrink, happiness genuinely involves experiences. I can still remember my favorite catch while playing football. It was just an intramural playoff game in high school. But with less than thirty seconds remaining, in a tied game, I suddenly found myself in the end zone, while running at top speed and out of room. Our quarterback hurled the pigskin, and in a seemingly slow motion haze, I quickly trapped the ball in my left forearm and tip-toed both feet in bounds to win the game. My team surrounded me with smiles, chants and pumped fists. Happiness, the experience, was brought on by an amazing catch.

Unlike a scheduled football game, spontaneous moments can provide lasting memories of happiness too. A cold and snowy December day, while attending college, comes to mind. I managed to persuade a small group (my bride of today among them) to forego our studies and finals angst and to instead head for the hills for some late night tobogganing. We found a great slope where we met many others who were there to unwind as well. We spent hours trying to beat each other’s previous run times, and then hours getting home, as we had no car. In the end, a dreary day of studying turned into a day of lasting memories. Call it happiness 101, I suppose.

Funny is happy as well, and sometimes we have to laugh at ourselves. In the week or so prior to getting married, my feet were so cold I needed custom made, silk lined wool socks to make it to the altar. In our traditional and celebratory fashion, my brothers, friends and I lined up a few rounds of golf prior to the big day. For me, it was basically more distraction than anything else. But the distraction, out of the blue, provided me a once in a lifetime chance to perform a feat otherwise only seen in cartoons. I was lost, somewhere between one hole and the next within the vast maze known as the Bethpage State Park Golf Course. This time I was moving at top speed in a golf cart, when I went straight off the side of a cliff that came upon me too fast. I paused in mid-air and fell ten feet, flat and thunderously loud. Clubs and irons spit out like geysers in all directions. I didn’t move an inch in my seat, though I felt as if I just rode the big hill of a mega roller coaster. I stuck the landing- it was one in a million. All anyone could do was laugh. And this prescription for happiness proved to be enormously good medicine for my cold feet.

All these different thoughts and experiences about happiness resemble various blends of coffee. It’s like choosing happiness with mocha, with caramel or on the rocks with Sambuca and a splash of lime. Happiness in its premium brands is not always in season. At times, it may be necessary to take part in an occasional pilgrimage in order to be endowed with a cup brewed at full strength.

Such a journey took place, on January 15th, 2009, when a commercial passenger jet lost use of all its engines shortly after take-off, but was nevertheless piloted to a miraculous landing in New York’s Hudson River, by the renowned Captain Chesley Sullenberger. These are the times when happiness begins to flow from unblended reserves that humans can draw upon, and it is seen as tears of joy.

In other rare instances, life allows us to bypass the reserve altogether. In my life, I was given passage when a severely stressed and twisted umbilical cord made for a scary delivery during the birth of my daughter. When I finally cradled her unscathed body in my arms, I simultaneously felt that I had already known her forever, and I came into contact with true happiness.

I paired up for fortune again, when a routine call to check on the status of our pending adoption 2000 miles away was enhanced by a Higher Power’s intervention, and allowed myself and my beloved to hear the birth of our son live. As we cried all the way to the airport, and much of the journey to greet him, it was apparent that we had been directed to sample a divine blend of happiness.

Several years later, when my soul mate fought back from the edge of illness, a master key left under our welcome mat provided a simple but long awaited weekend with something to celebrate. Entry had been granted to the source of happiness.

As my eyes swell and tears of joy dance across the keyboard below, I can remember those times when I bypassed the untainted reserve. And my heart was free to voyage into the deep and therapeutic well of happiness-called inner peace.

Writing may not always lead to inner peace, but I’d say it is 99.9% pure. Thank you so much Deborah for thinking of me. I will now ask Jocelyn, at O Mighty Crisis, if she would like to share her thoughts on ‘happiness’.

© 2010 Christopher’s Views

Microfiction Monday

The picture below is the inspiration and a 140 character limit sets the parameters. Susan at Stony River is the host of this Microfiction Monday. Please click here to check out Susan's excellent site and learn more about Microfiction Monday.

Here is this weeks Microfiction Monday picture and my 'micro' short story.


Remaking ‘Twister’ with goats flying around, I guess. I knew the T-Rex snack scene in ‘Jurassic Park’ was a big mistake. I need a new agent!

beware of the bogeyman-again

Over the past couple of weeks, I have squeezed in some time for two important tasks. In preparatory fashion, I have cleaned out and organized my golf bag to ready myself for a new season of play. In proactive fashion, I have reallocated funds and changed future contributions within the retirement plans for myself and my wife, as we attempt to keep vigilant, focused and intent on making up ground from the financial horror of 2008.

Doing this has reminded me of a post I originally presented October 31, 2008. In the post I offer a comparative view of how a few poorly scored holes during a round of golf and a few poorly returned annual retirement statements can mean disaster.

And, in light of the extensive news coverage this week, regarding accusations of possible investment fraud at the illustrious Wall Street firm, Goldman Sachs, perhaps some of you may also be thinking about the persistent need to monitor our potential perils.

So, here is the re-run from October 31, 2008.

Besides running, one of my favorite activities is golf. I do not play as often as I desire. I play just frequently enough to maintain the status quo. That is to say, as reflected by my scorecard, I get no better or worse from round to round. Two things are consistent with my rounds of play: I usually score in the low 90's and I usually par 4 or 5 holes. But once in a while, to my bitter consternation, I am forced to pencil in a total in the low 100's back at the clubhouse. How does this happen?

There are a few ways to dissect the missteps. I could site poor course management, wrong club selection, an unbalanced stance, wayward putts and bad tee shots. But the basic reality, more often than not, comes down to having had two bad holes verse four good holes. The rest of the holes can be bogey, double bogey or may I say average for those of you less familiar with the game of golf. Lets say, for example, on my typical day there are 4 holes on which I score pars of 4 each. The total for these 4 holes is 16. If the remaining 14 holes are split between bogey and double bogey I will score 77 on the remaining holes. That makes the round of 4 par holes equaling 16, plus the 14 average holes equaling 77 add up to a total of 93.

The math of the bad round is similar, but with different results. If I have 2 disaster holes of 8 each, that will equal 16. If the balance of 16 holes are average (split again between bogey and double bogey) they will equal 88. That would make this unpleasant outing of 2 holes equaling 16, plus 16 holes equaling 88 add up to a total of 104--yikes!

Bluntly, a couple of bad holes can have a profound effect on the final tally. Rarely occurring, but known to happen, a one hole meltdown can have a powerful effect on a final score as well. Business conventions held at lavish resorts are a good place to witness this malady. I have seen this kind of blow up several times in this past couple of decades. Players at these events tend to be inebriated, unfocused and are often up against a very difficult course with which they are unfamiliar. The most common ingredients to spur this abomination include a par 5 hole on the back nine when fatigue sets in on the unfocused golfer. The hole may start with an errant out of bounds shot from the tee box, then overcompensation of a swing to plunk a ball in the water, a flub(a poorly hit ball that goes nowhere), a swing and a miss, balls getting buried in the lip of a sand trap, more angry miss hits, shank a wedge (a home run when you wanted to bunt), four putts and penalty strokes. All this can harden into a 16 on the scorecard for just one par 5 hole.

What does a 16 on a single hole do to a scorecard? Well, if the rest of the 17 holes are split between 1 and 2 over par they will equal 94. The math then becomes 16 on one hole plus 94 on 17 holes adding up to a total of 110. I call that--double yikes!!

Why do I shine a light on these golf escapades knowing that many of you reading this post may have little in common with these experiences? The answer is because many of you reading this post may be planning for retirement with the help of 401K's, or other market related investments. And I fear that for many people this one investment year of 2008 will be like a 16 on a par 5 hole.

In the past few weeks, people I know and some I barely know have been telling me of their woes of financial loss. I am not referring to wealthy (or now semi-wealthy) individuals who may have lost millions. I regularly hear from middle class people that tell me of their $200,000 dollar to $300,000 dollar losses. Some of theses losses are in retirement plans, some are self picked stocks and commodities and some are day trade accounts. Many pundits say that these are paper losses now and that over time the markets will recover. And for many people this may be true. But, for some investors, their money may be lost forever or at least very difficult to recapture.

Recently, while I was waiting for a business appointment, an anonymous gentleman that I never met before felt the need to share with me his story. He was in his 50's and lives in middle class suburbia. Perhaps because I draw people out or because he had so much to vent, he opened up his laptop to show me his trading account. He told me that he started about 2 years ago with $100,000 dollars. He reached his high of $197,000 dollars midway last year. He didn't stay on that point for more than an instant. He vigorously began to recall the stocks that he thought would be his salvation. Then he told me about his margin account, and about buying stocks on loaned money. As the market began to head south, instead of getting conservative, he saw buying opportunities. He took on more stocks and more margin and more risk. In the few weeks from late September to early October his picks began to plummet and the margin calls came fast. He directed me to the lower left corner of his screen. The balance read $3400 dollars. He kept telling me the same story, repeating items over and over. He could dissect the missteps, point out his mistakes, and acknowledge the occurrence. However, the surrealism of the incident prevented him from feeling anything. In a sort of therapeutic role, I just nodded and listened, as if to transmit that awareness is the first step toward recovery.

Maybe Tiger Woods would be able to come back from a 16 on a par 5 hole to have a respectable round. And maybe Warren Buffett would be able to resuscitate $3400 dollars back to $197,000 dollars in 5 or 10 years. For most of us though, it would seem to be an unlikely prospect. Still, we must try our best. The topography ahead will be rough. Stay sober and focused when handling your money. Choose investments carefully and apply good asset allocation management. Do not make important decisions in haste. When it is needed, ask for advice. And remember, average scores from this point may deliver a final retirement statement inked with the revelations of a double yikes.

If so, you may want to head straight for the clubhouse--others there will be waiting to listen.

© 2010 Christopher’s Views

Microfiction Monday

The picture below is the inspiration and a 140 character limit sets the parameters. Susan at Stony River is the host of this Microfiction Monday. Please click here to check out Susan's excellent site and learn more about Microfiction Monday.

Here is this weeks Microfiction Monday picture and my 'micro' short story.


Okay guys, good input and not a bad template. But we’ll need more cleavage in order to attain the ‘Unload Some Moldy Stogies’ bonus award.

a 5-kilometer detour

I have been an enthusiastic runner for the past 10 years, and a New Yorker for the past 50 years. So, when a friend recently made me aware of an annual 5K run that takes place on a runway at JFK Airport (surprise to me), I thought that’s a great novelty.

I went straight to the web page of the JFK Rotary Club to register. After all, watching Bruce Willis, as John McClane, manhandle some impossible tasks out on the runways of Dulles Int’l Airport in Washington D.C. during Die Hard II is about as close as I’ve ever been to a ground level view.

The run took place this morning and the weather conditions were excellent. An early morning temperature of around 45 degrees, along with partly sunny skies provided an ideal race environment.

Unfortunately what was supposed to be a “5K Runway Run” turned into an airport roadway run. We heard a few different reasons for the change of plans. Security reasons, construction on an adjacent runway, and backlog from the eruption of the Eyjafjallajokull volcano were the top contenders. Gate A, B, C, all or none of the above-I don’t know.

Overall, the organizers from the JFK Rotary Club put together a worthy event. Hopefully though, next year, I will be able to savor the novelty of the experience, instead of the usual bag of trinkets.

Microfiction Monday

The picture below is the inspiration and a 140 character limit sets the parameters. Susan at Stony River is the host of this Microfiction Monday. Please click here to check out Susan's excellent site and learn more about Microfiction Monday.

Here is this weeks Microfiction Monday picture and my 'micro' short story.


Some like to catch the worm. Some hang with Hans Christian Andersen. But this old early bird is all about primo seats and waterfront access!

time to stop passing the buck within the Catholic Church

I was planning to fulfill my vow of not joining in on the latest round of criticism against the Roman Catholic Church during Holy Week. Unfortunately though, that will not happen. In fairness, I suppose I need to reveal that I was raised Catholic, have grown increasingly disappointed with how the hierarchy of the Church functions (or dysfunctions I think) and have not attended Mass or other Catholic services in about seven years.

I was driven over the edge of non compliance however, when I read an ad placed in the New York Times, on Tuesday of this week, by Bill Donohue, President of the Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights. I was reminded that even as an altar boy, in the late sixties and early seventies, I was well beyond the degree of denial and insult to intelligence which often encircles the Catholic Church to this very day. I am appalled by the inability of some defenders of the Catholic Church to understand the serious nature of abuse. And I am completely disgusted by spin that tries to lay blame on the era, suggesting that society didn’t know how to handle child molestation accusations until somewhere around 1996.

Mr. Donohue’s message was quite disturbing in my view. He titled the ad “Going For The Vatican Jugular”. Much of the ire seems to stem from a New York Times article published on March 24th, which brings attention to the case of Father Lawrence C. Murphy, who was accused of molesting possibly as many as 200 boys at a Wisconsin boarding school for the deaf from about 1952 to 1974. And yet, prior to Father Murphy’s death in 1998, the Catholic Church hadn’t defrocked him or recommended him for prosecution.

Mr. Donohue stated “The Times says repeatedly that Church officials did not report accusations of abuse to the police. The common response of all organizations, secular as well as religious, was to access therapy and reinstate the patient (I prefer the term offender). Today it is obvious that a more hard-line approach is necessary, though therapy is still popular in many quarters.”

Just from my own memories, I disagree with that notion. By the time I graduated elementary school I was aware that child molestation was a police matter. And I believe most other people knew that as well. Shamefully though, for too many abused children, help did not come soon enough.

As for the above mentioned therapy policy that Mr. Donohue sites, it rings incomplete and strange to me. And I would like to know why he is so concerned about therapy for the predator and makes no reference about the therapeutic needs of the victims.

Mr. Donohue then advances another absurd contention. He states, “The Times continues to editorialize about the “pedophilia crisis,” when all along it’s been a homosexual crisis. Eighty percent of the victims of priestly sexual abuse are male and most of them are post-pubescent. While homosexuality does not cause predatory behavior, and most gay priests are not molesters, most of the molesters have been gay.”

I picture wheels coming off and Mr. Donohue’s line of reasoning hitting the wall here. Homosexuality is not about having sex with minors, in the same manner that heterosexuality is not about having sex with minors. Pedophilia however, is by definition, a sexual perversion involving children as the object of desire. I am also unaware of a term that would better describe the "priestly sexual abuse" of around eighty percent males (twenty percent female evidently), where the victims are minors, and mostly post-pubescent (but not exclusively evidently), other than calling this pedophilia. Certainly it is off the mark to label such behavior a "homosexual crisis".

The ad doesn’t reference a source for where Mr. Donohue gathers his statistics from regarding the "Eighty percent of the victims of priestly sexual abuse are male and most of them are post-pubescent." breakdown, and by not addressing the abuse of the other twenty percent of the victims, they seem to be minimized along the way.

I am not an advocate for the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI over these matters. But, regarding allegations of abuse, the leaders and supporters of the Roman Catholic Church must begin demonstrating extra concern for the victims. In short, a whole lot more validation and contrition is needed.

Forgiveness flows more readily to those who accept blame, than to those who continue pointing fingers.

© 2010 Christopher’s Views