The first person who ever told me that happiness was work was this manic-depressive artist I knew when I was in my 20s. I was like, 'What are you talking about? Happiness just happens. That's even the root of that word. How could it be work?
Your heart is the size of your fist; keep loving, keep fighting.
Looking for the perfect day is not going to make us happy, because that day isn't going to come.
I always do like seeing other people dance in their cars. It's one of the things that makes me happy.
Artists and writers have to understand and live the truth that what we are doing is nourishing the world.
My own habit had always been to write about the things that ticked me off in a given day. If I kept a journal at all, I kept it to vent.
They say change gets more difficult as we get older - each year we're more stuck in our ways, more reluctant to learn something new.
When you study postpartum depression, there is a very clear understanding that in communities where you see more support, there is less depression.
Nourish the world with your words, yo.
A lot of women make choices based on how they saw their mother's choices working out, how they saw the choices of the women elders in their lives working out. There's some rebellion in that, but there's also some deep reflection.
I think there are different kinds of happiness. We know when we're happy a lot of the time, but then there are those moments that have more of an afterglow, when the happiness has more depth.
In all of my looking at happiness, one thing I noticed right away is that the opposite of happiness isn't unhappiness or even depression, it's anxiety. It is something that can constantly block our happiness, or our chance to reach that sort of meditative state in our work or our home lives.
Conventional wisdom tells us we'll only be happier after a divorce if the marriage itself was a war zone.
The last introvert in a world of extroverts. Silence: my response to both emptiness and saturation. But silence frightens people. I had to learn how to talk. Out of politeness.
I'm sure there were plenty of loving, attentive mothers in the 'me generation,' but none of them lived at my house.
In my experience, staying in a marriage that my ex and I both agreed had all its best moments behind it was epically depressing.
When we strike a balance between the challenge of an activity and our skill at performing it, when the rhythm of the work itself feels in sync with our pulse, when we know that what we're doing matters, we can get totally absorbed in our task. That is happiness.
When I was a kid, my mother's parenting style teetered between benign neglect and intense bouts of violence.
I've been thinking about disowning some of my genes lately. I have a few healthy, happy, long-living optimists in my family tree - most of them fans of Christian Science founder Mary Baker Eddy, a major champion of positive thinking. But I've got plenty of ancestors who played out more tortured hands.
If you need help or advice, ask for it, but don't worry too much about hurting other people's feelings by not doing what they say. If your gut says no, trust it. Do what seems right.
It is a great paradox and a great injustice that writers write because we fear death and want to leave something indestructible in our wake and, at the same time, are drawn to all the things that kill: whiskey and cigarettes, unprotected sex, and deep-fried burritos.
New Agers have always told us that we create our own realities. Mind over matter.
Everything is freedom and everything is loneliness. Make your choice and let the rest fall away.
One thing that blocks flow is self-consciousness.
I don't know if my mother was a narcissist - or bi-polar or borderline. Those were words she tossed around over the years.
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