I take personal pride when I’m able to find happiness in the moment, even when life doesn’t go the way I might otherwise have wanted. That is a pretty important psychological skill to have.

By way of example – let’s say I was out to lunch with two friends.  I wanted Chinese but my friends preferred an Italian restaurant.

So there I was, having lunch at an Italian cafe, and not at the Chinese place I’d hoped for. Basically, I have two options.

First, I can choose to dwell on my dissatisfaction. The reality of the moment is different than what I wanted. I can even complain (either to myself or out loud to everyone). I might expand my gripe session to my entire life and complain about all the things that aren’t the way I’d like them to be. But I think of this as “victim” mentality,” and many people I know go through their entire lives in that mode. We all know who they are. We also know how tiresome those kinds of people can be to spend time with.  They always complain.

The other option is for me to find happiness in the moment, the way things actually are. Maybe that is just a psychological slight-of-hand, but it’s effective. So, even though Italian was not my first choice, now that I’m seated at an Italian restaurant I can choose to enjoy it. I can even cite four or five reasons why Italian was the better choice.

The larger point of this blog is that none of us controls everything that happens in our lives.  That’s why, for example, we need to pay close attention every single moment that we are behind the steering wheel of a car.

Some of the best advice I’ve ever read (probably from Shakespeare, but what worth-while advice isn’t?) is this:  Expect the best, plan for the worst.  In other words, if you bring your raincoat you’ll be better prepared for rain. And if it rains, celebrate that it is raining.

One of my sons is a university professor who studies human behavior– notably judgment and decision making.  I hope I have stepped lightly into his territory.

Alan

When I was young, my father refused to purchase a TV set for our home.

“I would end up watching it all of the time,” he explained.  “And I have work to do.”

So – no TV.  The biggest problem for me was that I had periodic school assignments that involved an essay about a specific TV show, and I couldn’t watch any of them.  My recollection is that at first my teachers were skeptical.  After all, every family owned a TV set.  When they called my father, they realized that I was right.

Other than for class assignments, I didn’t notice the lack.  I’ve always liked to read, and I didn’t feel like I was missing anything.

Fast forward twenty years.  My dad had purchased a color TV shortly after the TV networks began to air national programs.  Of course, I wasn’t living at his home anymore, so it was no big deal for me.  (And yes, I had my own color TV set at my own home.)

Fast forward to when my dad was 80 (and he lived to be 104).  Sure enough, almost every time I visited his house Dad was firmly planted in front of the TV.  During his last twenty-five years he moved to live near me, and one day I realized that Dad lived in his recliner chair in his living room in front of the TV.  He sat in the chair 24/7, watching TV.

I don’t even know what he was watching, because whenever I visited he turned it off.

Today I mostly only watch news and sports programming on TV.  I believe that I can learn more, and more quickly, by reading.  Although I thoroughly enjoy PBS programs such as NOVA.

What is the moral to this short tale?

If you avoid something because you are concerned about becoming addicted to it, you are probably right.

Alan

We all have structure in our lives.

When we are young the structure is provided by our parents.  They decide our bedtime, what friends we have play dates with, and where we live.  As we grow older the structure is provided by our schools – where we go to school, who will teach us, and exactly what they will teach.  Ultimately, structure is provided by a society that has already laid down the roads, built the cities, and imposed the laws.

As we get older, we learn to construct our own personal life structure, to the dismay of our parents who are never quite ready for the amount of independence we desire.  I still remember the ongoing arguments my first wife had with our then four-year-old daughter who wanted to pick out her own clothes for school.

By the time I was 31 years old I had begun my own business, was the proud father of three children, and was in the middle of divorce proceedings.  I moved back to live with my parents.

Temporarily.

On the first morning of my “visit” my dad said at breakfast, “You know, Alan, we have certain rules we expect you to follow in our house.”  My immediate reaction was to smile on the outside, and to begin planning my escape on the inside.  I stayed with my folks for less than a month.

I now work in my office Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  Last Tuesday morning when I woke up I checked my calendar for the day.  I found nothing.  No appointments. No reminders.  In short, no structure.

“That’s interesting,” I thought.  I was uncomfortably facing a blank day and, sure enough, immediately started to fill in those blanks with plans – i.e., structure.

As adults, each of us is the architect of our own life structure.

I hope you enjoy your view.

Alan