Happiness is one of many possible responses to whatever may be the object of our attention.  It is an opportunity to practice mastering our minds. 

What makes some people seem so happy and others so dower?  I think that happiness is linked to our satisfaction with what we have, where we are, and with whom we keep company.

Often we focus on what we don’t have, where we’d rather be, and the shortcomings of our loved ones, neighbors, and colleagues.  If we want to increase our overall sense of satisfaction or happiness, we need to shift our attention to how much cool stuff we have, the beauty of the places in which we reside, and the endearing characteristics of the people with whom we spend so much time.

Happiness is a choice to embrace and enjoy what is good and plentiful in our lives.

I am missing the Olympics that ended.  A two-week season packed full with lots of different events and challenges is just right for a fair weather fan like me.  I love sports.  Still, watching other people play them on TV doesn’t usually keep my attention for any length of time. 

While following a team or an athlete brings about its own thrills and chills, I am more the experiential type.  I like to run, skip, and play myself.  I don’t care if I play well or look good.  I just like to play, especially outdoors and with as little extra equipment as possible. 

Two intense weeks of watching the Olympics on TV every two years is just about right.  This year, I was utterly fascinated by the story of the speed skater whose coach who sent him into the wrong lane in the 10,000 meter final.  Beneath the sting of such a costly mistake during a sporting moment in which there is no room for error must be a relationship of complete trust between athlete and coach.  I suppose that is why the error in judgement was so tragically captivating.

When I first saw what happened, I began to wonder if I ever trusted anybody enough to follow directions without thinking through whether or not the instruction was the right move to make.  For me, there is always a pause.  It’s not a silent pause.  The audiotape sounds something like, “and if your friend jumps off a bridge, you’ll follow?” 

I have avoided master – disciple relationships my entire life.  I recognize them in family structures, academics, organizations, sports, and all the arts. There have been many fleeting moments in my life, so far, in which I wanted to be a disciple to a certain master.  None of them ever really stuck.  

I know it sounds crazy, but a number of years ago I decided to consciously practice loving others.  I literally slowed down my pace and began looking at other people and listening to them.  I practiced on my family members, colleagues, clerks in stores, whomever sat close to me on the bus, and passers-by on the street.  The funny thing is that it worked!  I began “feeling” more love for humanity.

I learned that love has something to do with accepting others as they present themselves rather than secretly judging them for not being more like I want them to be.  A sense of humor helps a lot!

I remember learning in a high school psychology course that a pristine form of love, unconditional love, was not only possible but also favorable in relationships.  At the time I thought unconditional love was merely a form of loyalty.  The problem was that being on the receiving end of a commitment or promise, kept simply because it was made, doesn’t feel very loving.

Unconditional love means to love without expecting anything in return.  Generating the love is not particularly difficult.  The challenge is to share the love without keeping score or secretly waiting for the gesture to be recognized, requited, and rewarded.  

Some people seem to have a happier disposition than others.  While some portion of that is probably innate, I think a person can practice being happy! 

Happiness and joy seemed to be linked to gratitude and awe.  No matter what it is we want in life, it’s important to balance our desire for more with gratitude for we have already.  It is also important for us to take pause and acknowledge what goes right for us seemingly without effort and what is beautiful before we’ve begun to tamper with it.

I literally began my “happy” practice by stopping to smell the roses.  One day the adage “stop to smell the roses” just popped into my head as I walked past a yard bordered on all sides with stunning rose bushes chock full of heavy blooms.  I stopped and smelled them.  Each color rose had its own subtly unique fragrance.   I caught myself having fun appreciating the subtle aromatic differences among dusty purple, deep red, and brilliant orange roses.  I rarely pass a rose bush now without stopping to smell its flowers.  One of my daughters and one of my nephews now join me when the occasion presents itself. 

Slowing down and paying attention to all the beauty and kindness around us that we too easily take for granted is a very effective way to begin to practice experiencing joy.   Once we recognize what happiness feels like in such a moment we begin to recognize it other times as well.

One of the many lessons I learned during two decades of rabbinic training and service was to value disciplined practice.  

Disciplined practices strengthen our resolve to make and keep commitments to others and to ourselves.  Our capacity to trust our colleagues and loved ones (and ourselves), can be nurtured or destroyed by our general experiences with commitment.  

A "fear of commitment" refers to someone's inability to trust others enough to withstand real intimacy, to love.  

I once attended a seminar with the Franklin Planner/Covey Leadership organization.  Steven Covey talked about a man he knew who had confided in him that he didn’t love his wife any longer.  Covey told him, “So then, go home and love her.”   

That simple little story blew my mind.

Love is a disciplined practice.

Every time my hunky and hilarious husband slurps or farts or burps or says something maybe he should have kept to himself…I make a conscious decision to love him.  I give him a kiss and tell him he's sexy.  

Love is a disciplined practice.

Have fun.  Life is short.

What if we didn’t call religion, religion.  What if we called it chopped liver instead?  I am a vegetarian.  I don’t even eat real chopped liver.  I make a faux chopped liver from green beans and walnuts.  Still, chopped liver means a great deal to the genetic information inside me.  My grandmother apparently made an awesome chopped liver before she adopted a “heart smart” diet.  I was already young enough not to remember it.  In the homes of American Jews of European family history, chopped liver is a staple dish at gatherings. It’s not pretty to look at nor does its high cholesterol and fat content make our mouths water.  Still it’s always there and, by the way, it always gets eaten. 

I want to write about my transition out of the rabbinate and into civilian life.  I learned a great deal as a rabbi.  I really loved the work I did.  The best part was the amount of time I spent with people, lots of people, lots of different kinds of people.  Remember the Doors’ song, “People are strange”?  We are.  We are very strange creatures on the planet.  We do odd things…often in the name of religion.

Religious wisdom is ultimately universal and therefore shared among all people of many different sorts of faith.  Religious practice is a tool, one among many, for creating meaning in the passing of time and reaffirming our commitment to the values we consider important.

Unfortunately as soon as the word, religion, is uttered most of us either accept religion as a act of faith or reject religion as a collection of superstitions and hypocrisies.  And among us, on both sides of the equation, are folks emphatically committed to their points of view.  It’s hard to talk seriously and intelligently about religion in such a polarized environment.

So what if, instead of talking about religion, we talk about chopped liver?  It’s ugly.  It’s fattening.  It’s also nourishing, rich in protein.  It’s comfort food, inviting fond memories of aunts and uncles and grandparents of a generation slipping into the past. 

There are shared truths in our experiences as human beings, figuring out how to live our lives, pursue our dreams, and heal our injuries, that are ugly and uncomfortable.  We indulge in too much and too little confidence.  We also all experience fleeting moments that remind us that people are generally kind and concerned for one another, and life is filled with moments for which we are truly grateful.  These fleeting occurrences become memories that inform the way we think and feel about ourselves, our loved ones, strangers, and life.