The Happiness Project: Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun

following my jumble of interests, I searched for otherways to “Go off the path.” I skimmed newspaper sections that I usually skipped. I disciplined myself to look into the windows of stores instead of walking by, oblivious. I started carrying a camera everywhere, to sharpen my eye.
    Each Monday in the month of May, I bought three new magazines—ones that I would never have read otherwise. The first Monday, I wandered into a magazine shop near my gym that I’d walked by a thousand times, and I discovered a magazine gold mine. Racks lined the room from floor to ceiling, and more piles fanned out across the floor. Three times, I walked to an unfamiliar subject area, shut my eyes, and pulled out a magazine at random. After making sure that I hadn’t accidentally picked up a porn magazine, I headed for the cash register. I ended up buying Equus (a special issue on “the Healthy Horse”), Paper Crafts Gourmet (“Easy ideas for food, cards & more!”), and Fresh Outlook (“The premier Christian magazine: spirit, body, life, home, business”).
    That night I looked at each of them from cover to cover. Never before had I thought about the challenges of taking a sick horse to a horse hospital or about hoof care. I’d never given any thought to the strangely fascinating life cycle of horse parasites. I did remain puzzled, however, by why a magazine store in midtown Manhattan stocked a magazine aimed at horse owners. I was intrigued by the text of Paper Crafts Gourmet ’s sample invitation for a “Mocktail Party”—“Join us for dinner and mocktails with a Caribbean flair as we celebrate our 13th anniversary.” I understood, of course, that some people don’t drink alcohol. Is it the case that people in social sets where most people don’t drink—observant Mormons, say—a host would serve “mocktails”? In Fresh Outlook, a Bible quotation grabbed my attention. All day long, I’d been annoyed by something a friend had done. I really wanted to criticize that person. I knew that if I did I’d feel remorseful afterward, but I was itching to pour out my irritation to some sympathetic ear. Then I came to a magazine page that had almost no text on it, so the words stood out in sharp relief: “Where there is no wood, the fire goes out; and where there is no talebearer, strife ceases.” Proverbs 26:20. Point taken.
    Each Monday, I have to admit, I dreaded reading the unfamiliar magazines. It felt like work and a waste of time, not like fun. But every week, I was glad that I’d done it. I always found something useful, provocative, or amusing. It was a painless (though slightly pricey) way to get new and unexpected ideas into my brain.
    I intended to read a poem every night, but I never managed to make myself start that program. I’m sure it would have been worthwhile, but it seemed like too much work. Maybe I’ll do that if I ever undertake a Happiness Project II.
    START A COLLECTION.
    I’d always wished that I had a collection—I’d never collected anything other than the knickknacks I’d collected as an eight-year-old. A collection provides a mission, a reason to visit new places, the excitement of the chase, a field of expertise (no matter how trivial), and, often, a bond with other people. It sounded like so much fun.
    There are two kinds of collectors. The first kind seeks to have a complete set—of stamps, of coins, of Barbie dolls—and keeps a comprehensive and orderly kind of collection. The second kind of collector is driven by sheer desire, by the siren call of objects. My mother, of the second camp, has a tremendous knowledge and passion for objects and materials; she spends a lot of time visiting museums and walking through stores. Her collections of Japanese ikebana baskets, Tartanware, Royal Bayreuth porcelain tomatoes, and in particular her magnificent collection of Santa Clauses, give her great pleasure.
    I wanted to start a collection—but what should I collect? I didn’t have enough passion to justify an expensive collection, and I didn’t want to collect junk. I decided to collect bluebirds, because bluebirds are a symbol of happiness. As far as I know, this connection arose from Maurice Maeterlinck’s play The Blue Bird. A fairy tells two children, “The Blue Birdstands for happiness,” and she orders them to set out to find the Blue Bird for her sick daughter. After many adventures, the children come home, unsuccessful—to find the Blue Bird waiting for them. “It’s the