COUNTING

From where I sit this morning, I can see several things that count.

• On the wall in front of my desk I have an array of beautiful objects collected over travels.


• Outside, the sky is lightening in the east, early morning turning into today.


• I hear birds calling to each other.

One, two, three. Three blessings already this morning. My husband working at his desk across the room, that's four. My dog sleeping on the couch nearby--five. The list keeps growing and it's not even seven o'clock yet.

We are often directed to count our blessings by well meaning people. When it's a command, it feels like the equivalent of "shut up." It can leave us in a lonely place.

But the practice of counting blessings is transformative when it's initiated by our very own hearts.

Change What You Count
I have increased the joy in my life--or at least, raised my awareness of what was always there--by changing what I count. I used to count my worries. Will I have enough X? You know X. Sometimes he's money, sometimes he's time. He can also be love, opportunity, courage--whatever it is that lets our anxiety bubble out. So I would count X. I have this many dollars so I can do or not do what I want. I have this much time. I counted perceived slights and held on to those quite tenderly.

It was not fun. It did not make me happy nor did it feel good. It created a false notions that certain conditions must be obtained before happiness can be mine.

Here's the thing. I am happy. Not every day, not all the time. But as a rule, I'm pretty happy. So I knew on some level that it did not depend on any of the Xs in my life. It was mine to enjoy at any moment, if I simply turned my attention to those things that remind me of my joy.

Like the shift of light at sunrise, the presence of my beloved nearby, the comfort of my canine friend snoozing lightly on a pillow.

That's why I count joys now. I look for them everywhere I go. Walking down a busy, ugly street, I'll decide which car colors are prettiest. Sitting in a dull meeting at work, I admire the intelligence of my co-workers or wonder at the marvel of all these bodies whose cells know exactly what to do. Blessings abound, and the more I tune into them, the more they slip into my consciousness and transform my day.

So today, notice what you're counting. And if the balance tips toward painful, anxiety-producing items, see what else there is to count. Start with small things and go from there.

Wandering and Settling

A moment of quantitative introspection. Since 1998, I have:

• Moved 4 times
• Changed jobs 6 times
• Published a book
• Gotten married
• Bought a condo
  
• Adopted a dog (a bigger deal than you'd think!)

You might say I have been wandering. I am somewhat restless by nature, gifted with the novelty seeking gene. I love to travel and fantasize about living in each new place I go. I love to job hunt, too, which most people regard as perverse. I like to initiate projects and then move on. Funny qualities for a novelist, but there you go.

The Wandering Urge
I have come to recognize a feeling inside as the wandering urge. It accompanies dissatisfaction of any kind, and its outlets are manifold thanks to the Internet. I can look at real estate when I start to feel edgy about where I live. I can job hunt online to my hearts content.

But underneath the activity is an anxiety. Not about anything specific, just there. It's made for a dramatic life, in some ways. Lots of change. Lots of travel. All things I love.

This feeling is one of my habitual grooves. The pros are that it is a reflection of my innate optimism and belief in myself, the idea that I can go forth and be or do anything. I love the limitlessness of that. The cons are that it has been perhaps too easy to change and to believe in change as the solution.

Choosing to Settle
Settling always had a bad rap in my mind. It meant settling for something other than what I truly wanted, and served to drive much of my frantic change-seeking. But now I see something different in it.

Perhaps it's being happily married (God bless you Mr. F), but I see settling as a way to go deeper now. I see it as getting settled into my home and going deeper in my career. Joining my community. Exploring my ideas more fully. All of these things appeal to me now.

The Focus Factor
Analyzing my life in quantitative terms has led me to conclude that I have not focused on the things I truly want. I have felt the desire for my very own life as an ache that needed placating. I know now that changing jobs will not relieve the ache. Nor will moving (though I will no doubt move again as there is too much world to see).

What will soothe the ache is narrowing my focus on the urge that underlies it all, and letting it guide me organically to what is best for me. Part of that is writing. All of it is love -- loving the moment I'm in, loving, really consciously, deliciously loving my exact point on the compass.

The liturgy says: Walk in love. Yes. Exactly. That is what I will be settling into, and that is where I will wander to.

Dwelling

What did you have for breakfast today? (Go ahead, take a moment to remember.)

Was it good? Did you taste it? I mean, really taste it. Let the flavors roll across your palate. Feel the texture of the eggs, the crunch of the salsa, the tang of the coffee.

Or did the food go down as you did other things. Like me, maybe you read the paper while you ate. Or you were driving somewhere eating a muffin and drinking coffee and -- just to make it exciting -- talking on the phone.

Pleasure requires stopping our multi-tasking maniac minds from rushing on ahead. The goal? Noticing the moment. Why? Because it is in the moment, and only there, that we can experience pleasure at all.

"Yes, right," the mind says. "Eating lovely food. Got it. But now I need to plan for that meeting and balance my mental checkbook to figure out if I can buy those shoes."

Or worse yet, the mind marches down its familiar ruts and grooves, taking you back to the saddest story ever told: the breakup of the ages or the world's worst boss awards program playing in your head, or the barrista who brazenly took someone else's order ahead of yours even though you were standing right there.

Where to dwell?

That is called dwelling, a funny little domesticated-sounding word that could be the end of your pleasurable life if you let it. But here's the key.

You get to choose where to dwell. You can stay forever in the mental line while the barrista takes order after order ahead of you.

Or you can turn your attention to something beautiful. The woman ahead of you has on a great blouse. The child with her is going up on her tippy toes and coming back down, over and over, just like you used to do. You might notice that the sun is coming out, that there is a gentle breeze moving through the bushes making a rustling sound.

You have a wonderful set of sensory apparatus that will guide you to delight in any moment you choose it.

So choose your dwelling place with care and watch as your life fills with joy.