The Wishful Art of Happiness.

A few weeks ago, I had the intriguing opportunity to casually quiz a fabulously wealthy woman about her life. We were at a small gathering, making chit-chat, and watching our children cavort in a custom designed swimming pool. We are about the same age, height, build, and have young children. But these people have "more money than Oprah", quipped a spunky girlfriend with a snort. Hmmmm..... I dove right in, albeit casually. What do you do with yourself? Do you work? Lounge about, sipping margaritas, with a bevy of staff at your beck and call? Or not? She seemed quite charming and outgoing in a foreign European sort of way, and we talked easily. Honestly, I liked her. Her life, not so much.

Turns out she has a lot of help. Nannies, cooks, cleaners, personal trainers, etc etc. She doesn't work because she doesn't need to, but instead spends a lot of her time creating works of art. She tells me she hired a bunch of prominent artists to teach her all they knew. They showed up at her art studio, custom-built at home, and taught her their stuff. O-kay. I never even considered the fact that this could be possible. Now, she is designing and creating works to be displayed in their new home, currently being designed and planned in a gorgeous spot in Silicon Valley. I glance over at our pot-bellied kids looking like porpoises with goggles on. They shriek and play Marco Polo -- just like they do in any other pool. I know those little faces and personalities like I know my own, and love them more than anything I can think of. Her daughter calls to her, showing off a dive. She bubbles over with gushing praise, the kind given by absent parents, lacking ease and familiarity. My intuition tingles.

I ask some more. No, she never cooks. Hardly ever drives. Pays for the very best schools, but doesn't ever pack a lunchbox, wrestle with a juice box, pick up broken crayons, feel overwhelmed by your children but take a deep breath and remind yourself you are the adult and they are to go to bed RIGHT NOW so that mommy can have a glass of wine. Nope. No washing sticky hands, dipping cheese sandwiches in glasses of milk, or slurping pasta at the kitchen table.
What would you do if you could afford to outsource your life?

Then I think about the things I have learned from other people. The only time I have paid for knowledge was for formal education, and then I probably learned the least in those circumstances. The useful stuff I learned from people who cared. How to cook, how to change a flat tyre, how to pick a pair of flattering jeans, how to type, how to read a budget, how to get parsley to grow. I learned from love. I messed up, they laughed at my frustrations, or guided me gently along the right path. Their knowledge and lessons, a gift.

We come home and I curl up on my big old couch and nurse a cup of tea, with my feet comfortably tucked into my husband's lap. The kids are playing with mermaids in the bathtub, and the television is dark. We chat about the day. He reminds me of his belief in true happiness being found in the small details of every day. Years ago, he tried to convince me of this, but I just didn't get it. He told me ten years ago that his happiness depended more on the tiny details of every day, like what he would have for lunch, or with whom, rather than having a million dollars in the bank.
I understand that now. But I am now in a position to understand it. Now, I can see that sipping tea on a couch with someone I love and trust makes me so much happier than would sitting in a mansion, opposite a man who doesn't speak to me nicely in public.
It makes me happier knowing the names of the mermaids in the watery mermaid house, than it would having a nanny fish my girls out of the tub when they become prunes.
One day I will savor the memory of a hot morning breath peering into my face at 7am to see if I am awake and ready to hear a new composition on her tinny xylophone.

The thing is, it is easier to focus on the small things that bring lasting happiness when the really big things are already taken care of. Sure, a cup of coffee with a cherished friend who really cares about the minute details of your life makes you feel fabulous and loved and relevant. But this will only happen if you aren't fretting about the big stuff. And that would be - objectively having enough. Enough money to pay your rent or mortgage, enough food for the month, enough people in your life. It is the fine tuning of these basic things that bring us happiness. Friends that feed your energy, not take from it all the time. A job that is rewarding, not just financially viable. But many ordinary people have to struggle for these basic, big things. I guess it would easy to suggest to them to focus on the little pleasures they already have, and I'm sure many of them do try to. But understand how hard this may be when the big things are looming over your head.
So sure, the little things matter, but boy it helps if the big things are already in place. Personally, I love cliches. They are repeated for good reason. Yes, health is the most important thing in life, every cloud has a silver lining, and just putting lipstick on a pig, does not make it anything other than a pig.

Money doesn't buy happiness, but really, enough to cover the basics gives us the breathing space to make the small choices that make life a feast.