Part 7
Daringly Happy

Thought for the day

Thank goodness they got the design for the drawing board right first time!

First Up, a Story …

Dances? Which ones did you grow up with? Hokey cokey for sure? But after that? YMCA? Macarena? Lambada? You’ll have pushed a pineapple and shaken a tree in your time. Have you galloped your way across a dance floor, Gangnam style?

For this next section to work, Will wants you to know that The Floss is a dance. Kids across the land are doing it.

The Floss. It’s a fast and furious dance craze. That’s all you need to know.

Next door to me lives a young man whom I’m convinced might just prove to be the saviour of humanity. He may be three years old, but I most certainly wouldn’t describe him as ‘only’, three years old. Teddy, you see, is a lesson to us all. He’s not learnt differently, see. He’s too cool to be too-cool-for-school. When it comes to life, he’s the physical embodiment of the ghost of Christmas past, present and that which is to come – and not just at Christmas. Teddy jingles exceedingly well all year around. I’ll give you just one such example of little Ted’s brilliantly impulsive take on life.

Whilst I was wandering down the garden path the other day, Ted’s mum popped her head out of the upstairs window to mention something relatively innocuous; one of those neighbourly insights that’s useful to know but not particularly earth-shattering in magnitude. It probably had something to do with a wheelie bin. The conversation was rapidly hijacked by young Ted, who simply couldn’t contain himself; he was fit to burst and somehow individually a whole lot greater than the sum of his constituent parts. Which is no mean feat. He was desperately excited, and desperate to share his enthusiasm. I was desperate to hear it. Looking at Ted’s effervescence, I needed a bit of whatever he had.

After wrangling his way to the front of the window and being harnessed by the scruff of the neck by his slightly apprehensive-looking mother, Teddy made his proclamation. At full volume. He was looking at me, but I could sense that he was addressing the world at large. ‘Will … Will! Look! Dental floss! I’VE GOT DENTAL FLOSS!!!’ Ted was brandishing an invisible thread of hope in the universal battle against tooth decay. Just to make sure the message had been received, Ted vociferously repeated the statement, with no negligible loss of amplitude. I smiled awkwardly, being slightly unsure of what the correct response should be. I thought too hard about it, when what I should really have done was to, well – floss. The dance. Fast and furious. Right there and then, I should have dropped everything and flossed.

His invisible thread for my whole-body phantasmagorical floss would’ve no doubt sent both Teddy (and his mum) into raptures of stratospheric proportions.

But I didn’t, and I so wish that I had. The moment had passed. It’s a regret, a missed opportunity.

But also a learning opportunity.

Smiling weakly, stepping to the back of the queue and suppressing your urge to floss? As a rule, it’s surely better to realize that you can do something, rather than you could’ve done something. Life: you’ve got to be receptive, open and up for it. After all, what’s the best that could happen?

Welcome to the weird and wonderful world of being daringly happy. Here are some top tips that might require some courage.

Fortune favours the brave.

Happiness leakage. We dare you!

Bottom Fever

Mbuki-mvuki. Swahili

To take off in flight (mbuki), to dance wildly (mvuki). Literally, to shed clothes in order to dance; possible origins of the phrase ‘boogie woogie’.

It is possible to get excited and be exciting. Again.

You can smile and laugh and beam and craft and create and relish. If you allow it. If you disavow the shackles of artificial adulthood and just react rather than overthink how you should be reacting.

Of course, it’s quite hard to ‘just be you’ rather than continually doing what you think is expected of you.

Be the sort of mother, father, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, grandma, grandad, best friend, next-door neighbour your child wants you to be. That you want you to be. That you owe it to yourself to be. That deep down you are, and always have been, but have somehow been left stranded on a deserted railway platform with a red-spotted handkerchief.

It’s time that the real you made a comeback and proved that you’ve never really been away.

With that in mind, here’s a dancing dare. Apparently, if you use your backside to draw the letters of your name in mid-air, you get Saturday Night Fever. Yes, you become an actual John Travolta.

Try it. You might need a friend to record it. Stick it online and then relax with a drink and slice of cake. In a year’s time, you will feel all fuzzy and warm when FaceTube reminds you that it happened one year ago today.

That’s what we call ‘using social media for exactly the right reasons’. Cool, eh?

There’s probably a significant proportion of you who are now hesitating; grappling with grown-up internal dialogue contemplating the merits of attempting Saturday-Night-Bottom-Fever.

You’re seeking your own permission.

Be John Travolta. Be Olivia Newtron Bomb. Dancing Queen.

You’re overthinking it. Remember from the previous section, it’s like NOT flossing at Ted.

Social Deviance

‘Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.’

Frank Zappa (whose child is called ‘Moon Unit’ by the way. True)

James Dean was a rebel with cool hair but no cause. Here’s a rebel you’ve never heard about, a mysterious artist from Bury who goes by the name of Wanksy.

Stick with it folks.

He’s kind of like Banksy, in that nobody actually knows who he is, but rather than daub on walls, Wanksy finds potholes and draws penises around them. I’ve assumed Wanksy’s male because it’s such a blokey thing to do.

His purpose is one of moral good. By turning potholes into dicks it forces the council to come out and sort the pothole p.d.q. It’s local activism of the comedic kind.

We’re falling short of daring you to break the law but if you’re going to be a warrior for social justice, we encourage you to do it with humour.

Laldy Mondays

Gav is a trainer. And he also does comedy. So here are two thoughts …

First, have you ever watched improvised comedy? It’s even more terrifying than stand-up because you’re thrust on stage with no rehearsal, no script and no clue as to what’s about to happen. A situation unfolds and your job is to make something of it, preferably something entertaining.

Improv. You react. You make something up. You think on your feet. I can’t help thinking it’s exactly like actual real life.

Second, I’ve been performing and speaking publicly since I was 18 years old. Comedy has taken me all over the world and yet I’ve never had any formal training, was never a member of a drama club and am definitely not a theatre luvvy. But I am gifted with the ability to turn up, take to the stage and – in true Scots dialect – ‘gie it laldy’ (translation: give it all you can, and more).

I live my life by what I refer to as the ‘Opening Night Principle’. What does this even mean?

In the world of the performing arts, cast and crew await Opening Night with an abundance of hope, anticipation, excitement and terror. This is it, everything they’ve worked towards, it’s what it’s all about. It’s their first night with an actual audience. Get this right and we’re off and running with 5-star reviews, full houses and standing ovations. People – cast, crew, audience – they all leave buzzing, energized, moved. We all want more, it feels sensational for all involved. Roll on the second night.

Now apply this to daily life. Work, school, study, relationships, health, fitness, family. What if we made the effort to not just get up each day but to truly turn up and treat the day as if it were your opening night?

‘Don’t be careful. You could hurt yourself.’

Byron Katie

My first ‘proper job’ was primary school teaching – 26 kids in a room from 9 a.m. until 3:30 p.m. The best teachers are the ones who turn up and gie it laldy. Just as are the best leaders, the best parents, friends, lovers, etc.

The Opening Night Principle is an energy that makes people tick, lifts a room and can have huge impact on all those around. It has a natural excitement to it but it also brings an edge. The thrill of possibilities, a touch of the unknown. Adding an extra dollop of passion to your emotional soup.

Hell yeah. Improv your way through life, and gie it laldy.

Especially on a Monday!

Be Loud and Proud

Previously, we encouraged you to announce your plot twists. This time we’d like to up the ante and announce when you’re having a happy moment. You can celebrate it however you want, from a Harry Met Sally orgazmatron to punching of the air or a heel-clicking dance around the grocery aisle.

Notice your moments and announce them to the world. ‘I’m having a happiness moment …’

Dare to be a little bit odd. Become known as the family member who announces their happiness moments! Because calling them out rubs off on everyone.

Or save them up for the dinner table. It’s the perfect place to gather and re-live them. You smile more. Your children smile more. Your adults smile more. You rediscover an appetite for life.

Happiness, like depression, is a self-reinforcing cycle. It’s an upward spiral. Happiness enhances volition, which in turn increases happiness, and away you go. Indeed, the greatest gift of happiness may not be in the feeling itself but rather in the accompanying thrill of possibility. Suddenly the world is in full surround sound HD 3D Technicolor! The eye sees more clearly, the mind thinks more keenly, the heart beats faster and everything seems possible.

So we’re advocating that you announce your happiness moments. Share them. And encourage others to do the same.

A Quiet Thank You to the Carers

Purpose sounds big − ending world hunger or eliminating nuclear weapons – they’re BIG.

But it doesn’t have to be. You can also find purpose in being a good parent to your children, creating a more cheerful environment at your office or making a giraffe’s life more pleasant.

Story time. Another true one.

‘The next thing I remember,’ Erik said, ‘was driving in the car out to Stony Brook Hospital and not knowing how serious it was, what condition she was in, where she was hit, or if she was alive.’ He eventually learned that his little girl was in surgery with a paediatric neurosurgeon.

That gave Erik three pieces of information. Number one: his daughter was alive. Number two: this was serious. Number three: neurosurgeon, she had a brain injury.

At the hospital, Erik was led to a private waiting area, where the brain surgeon came in to see him and his wife. The surgeon explained that Katy was in a medically induced coma. Her vitals were stable but the doctor explained that they’d had to relieve the pressure on her brain by removing a piece of skull.

Erik and his wife were numb. They drank rubbish coffee from a machine and stayed by their daughter’s bedside. Late that night, her intracranial pressure spiked and she was wheeled into theatre once more.

Erik held his wife. ‘Where is the good in any of this?’

When Kate came out of her second brain surgery the doctors transferred her to Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City, where she underwent intensive rounds of therapy. Because of the accident, she could no longer speak, her depth perception was impaired and she had lost nearly all of her memories.

Miraculously, by October, Katy was able to return to school part-time and continued to attend rehab. Everything was super-slow. Remember, she was missing a chunk of skull.

By November, the little girl was well enough to return to Stony Brook so that the doctors could replace the missing jigsaw piece of bone. This would be her third brain surgery or as her dad describes, ‘It was kind of a triumphal re-entry.’

It seemed that, despite the odds, Katy was going to make it. Erik continued searching for the meaning in everything that had happened: I’m grateful she’s alive, he admitted on the eve of her third brain surgery, but I don’t know how much more of her I am going to get back.

Again, he returned to the question: Where is the good in any of this?

He found it when Katy came out of the surgery. The two of them were in the recovery room. His daughter was still woozy from the anaesthesia when a series of visitors began arriving at her bedside.

The first person to come was a doctor. ‘Katy, you wouldn’t remember me,’ she said. ‘I’m the admitting physician who was in the emergency room the day you came in.’

Moments later, a smiling nurse popped by: ‘Hi Katy, great to see you on the mend. You won’t remember me, but I was the nurse who was there when the original operating team came and started working on you.’

‘Katy, you wouldn’t remember me,’ another guest said, ‘but I was the chaplain on duty when you came in and I spent time with your parents.’

The grapes were piling up!

‘Hi Katy,’ said the next person, ‘you won’t have a clue who I am, but I was the social worker who liaised with school.’

‘And I was the nurse on your second surgery,’ said another beaming visitor.

According to her dad it was ‘a parade of smiling faces’.

The last visitor was a nurse named Nancy Strong, who had overseen Katy’s stay in the intensive care unit over the summer. Erik pulled her aside and said, ‘You know, I think it’s great that you are all coming by to wish Katy luck. But there’s something else going on here, isn’t there?’

‘Yeah,’ Nancy said, ‘there is. For every ten kids we see with this injury, nine of them die. There is only one Katy. We need to come back and we need to see her, because she is what keeps us coming back to work in this place every day.’

And Erik realized, this is the good.

Teachers, nurses, cleaners, therapists, physiotherapists, radiologists, doctors, teaching assistants, doctors’ receptionists, road sweepers, charity workers, dinner ladies, dinner men, bin men, bin ladies, paramedics, navy/army/airforce, traffic wardens, post office workers, police, surgeons, people who shine the floors in schools using those whirly polishing things, librarians, carers; thank you.

Thank you for caring.

There’s something called ‘compassion fatigue’. Teachers, for example, have a remit to educate youngsters. The likelihood is that you will be paid commensurate with your skills and qualifications but the emotional labour of the job doesn’t feature in the job description. It’s emotionally draining because you care.

Thank you for caring.

Your bin collection team will be paid a bin collection wage that takes no account of the fact that there’s a whole shebang of emotional detritus that comes with the bin bag detritus.

Bin men, bin women, bin children, thank you for caring.

Paramedics, you are paid a paramedic amount of money that reflects your qualifications and training. You’re not paid extra for engaging with the old lady whose husband has just passed away, yet you do it anyway. That extra five minutes really matters. Human connection.

Thank you for caring.

Shortly before he died of cancer Kenneth Schwartz wrote, ‘Quiet acts of humanity have felt more healing than the high-dose radiation and chemotherapy that hold the hope of cure. While I do not believe that hope and comfort alone can overcome cancer, it certainly made a huge difference to me.’

Anyone in a caring profession, whatever your job and whatever pay grade you’re on, or indeed whether you’re caring for an elderly relative for no pay whatsoever, I thank you for your ‘quiet acts of humanity’.

Thank you for caring.

Pass it on.

Give Out ‘I Love You’ Hugs

Social touch is being nudged from our lives. In the UK, doctors have been warned to avoid comforting patients with hugs lest they provoke legal action, and a government report found that foster carers were frightened to hug children in their care for the same reason. We three authors often work in schools and, quite frankly, it can be awkward when kids hug you. Instinctively, we want to hug back. But should we? Are we allowed to?

In the UK, half a million older people go at least five days a week without seeing or touching a soul. That’s the saddest sentence in the entire book.

Modern society has demonized touch to a level at which it sparks off hysterical responses and legislative processes. Of course, this lack of touch is not good for mental health.

Touch is commonly thought of as a single sense, but it is much more complex than that. Some nerve endings recognize itch, others vibration, pain, pressure and texture. And one exists solely to recognize a gentle stroking touch.

If you’re unconvinced, Google ‘Harry Harlow’ and read about his famous monkey experiments. Here’s the headline news: unloved baby monkeys retreat to a corner, self-harm and stare into space. Mary Carlson (worked alongside Harlow) describes touch as ‘a sort of species recognition’.

Which suggests that without touch, humans may be, well, less human.

Tiffany Field (academic, working in Miami) weighs in by saying what we’re all noticing, ‘You just don’t see people touching each other these days.’ She has just come from a restaurant, ‘And everybody was on their cell phones.’ At LaGuardia airport recently, she walked around the waiting area. ‘Not a soul was touching another. Even two-year-olds were sitting in carriages with iPads on their laps.’

So our happiness dare is to touch. Not ‘grope’, ‘mither’ or ‘harass’. There will be a dozen people in your life who are emotionally close enough to hug, so treat them to a 7-second embrace. Don’t count out loud. In fact, don’t say a word. Just hold them close for a full 7 seconds.

It’s an ‘I love you’ hug.

Drop Dead Happy

‘And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.’

Friedrich Nietzsche

Here’s an interesting way to up your levels of likeability – don’t be afraid to be a bit of an idiot. There’s something called the ‘pratfall effect’ (honestly, there really is) whereby scientists have proved that you’re more attractive if you celebrate your mistakes.

Imagine the party’s slacking, so Will decides to take the bull by the horns and be the first one on the dance floor. Nobody follows. The pratfall effect says that rather than retire sheepishly to the bar he should give it the full Floss. No half measures. Floss for the full 4 minutes.

Revelling in his faux pas and coming off the dance floor with a huge sweaty grin – that ladies and gents, is the key to gorgeousness.

Special Brew and Special Pants

Here’s a Scandi happiness hack – the Finnish path to happiness – kalsarikänni (aka ‘pantsdrunk’).

Pantsdrunk is simple. The clue is in the title. And hats off to the Finnish government for having enough national deprecation to have endorsed the concept by introducing two emojis of people drinking in their underwear in armchairs – a man in briefs with a beer and a woman with a glass of red wine – to represent Finnish culture.

‘Pantsdrunk’ is exactly as it sounds. This route to happiness literally means ‘drinking at home, alone, in your underwear’.

Oh, those cheeky Finns, they’ve opted for something that’s the antithesis of posing and pretence. It’s a single finger salute across the Baltic to the Danes and their super sexy ‘hygge’. One does not post atmospheric images on Instagram whilst pantsdrunk. ‘Here’s me relaxing at home, in string vest and Y-fronts, enjoying a Carling 6-pack – on my own.’ It’s not you at your best. Or, if it is, God help you.

‘If you ever start taking things too seriously, just remember that we are talking monkeys on an organic spaceship flying through the universe.’

Joe Rogan

We like pantsdrunk because it has a twinkle in its eye. It’s about being real. It’s about letting go. There’s zero performance. I would imagine it’s quite liberating to get home from work, peel your kit off and reach for a tinny. I think the British version would need some pork scratchings?

Delving a bit deeper, it seems pantsdrunk doesn’t need to be a solo activity. According to The Guardian ‘It can also be enjoyed with a good friend, housemate, or perhaps a relative … when practised properly, pantsdrunk with one’s spouse or significant other expands and deepens the relationship.’

So, there you have it. Next Valentine’s night, forget the expensive night out and treat your loved one to a relaxed night in. Sitting around half naked with your wife and mother-in-law, who knows what might happen.

A few points of pantsdrunk clarity. It is not about getting wasted. Make sure you only drink according to your needs and abilities.

If we look beyond the humour, pantsdrunk is one more way to celebrate the importance of relaxation. It’s an attitude and philosophy that starts from inner peace. It’s not really about alcohol at all, it’s about taking time out, indulging in a little of what you enjoy and being authentic.

Best of all, pantsdrunk does not require expensive furniture, artisanal hot chocolate, scented candles and a gluten-free cushion – just your drink of choice, closed curtains, a comfy sofa and a TV show you’re happy to binge watch.

Lots of lifestyle trends tell you to switch off your phone and get outside. Wouldn’t you rather be inside with a bottle of brown ale, working your way through a series on Netflix?

Semi naked?

Of course, if you did want to post some pictures, let’s follow each other!

#ZESTPantsDrunk

Now that’s a happiness dare!