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Nonfiction, Self Help, Psychology, Biography, Memoir, Mental Health, Audiobook, Personal Development, Book Club, Inspirational
Book
Paperback
2010
Harper
English
006158326X
006158326X
9780061583261
PDF | EPUB
I still remember that rainy Tuesday morning when clarity struck me like lightning. Sitting on a crowded city bus, watching a harried mother juggle an umbrella, phone, and stroller with a yellow-slickered child, I had a sudden realization: "That's me. This is my life." The thought was both jarring and profound. I had a good life by any measure - loving family, fulfilling work, comfortable home - yet I felt a persistent malaise, a sense that I wasn't appreciating what I had. "Is this really it?" I'd wonder, and answer, "Yep, this is it." That moment of recognition sparked a question that would change everything: What would happen if I dedicated one year to becoming happier? Not because I was depressed or experiencing a crisis, but because I sensed I could be happier, more grateful, more present in my own life. What if happiness, like any other skill, could be cultivated through deliberate practice? This question launched a year-long experiment in happiness - a methodical, month-by-month approach to creating more joy, energy, and satisfaction in everyday life. Through research, personal experiments, and unexpected discoveries, this journey revealed that happiness isn't something that simply happens to us - it's something we can actively create, one small change at a time.
It was an ordinary Tuesday afternoon when Gretchen Rubin had her epiphany. Sitting on a bus in the pouring rain, watching the world go by through foggy windows, she suddenly asked herself: "What do I want from life?" The answer came with surprising clarity - she wanted to be happy. Not that she was unhappy; she had a loving husband, two healthy daughters, a fulfilling career as a writer. Yet something was missing. She realized that she wasn't appreciating her life as much as she could, and time was passing quickly. This moment of clarity sparked what would become her year-long happiness project. Rather than making dramatic life changes like quitting her job or moving to a tropical island, Gretchen decided to find happiness within her ordinary life. She began researching happiness, diving into philosophy, scientific studies, popular culture, and ancient wisdom. She discovered that happiness isn't just about feeling good in the moment - it's about feeling good about your life as a whole, feeling bad less often, and living a life that feels right to you. Gretchen approached her project methodically, creating a Resolutions Chart inspired by Benjamin Franklin's virtue chart. She identified twelve areas of her life to focus on, one for each month of the year. For January, she chose energy - recognizing that without physical vitality, it would be difficult to make other changes. She established concrete, measurable resolutions: go to sleep earlier, exercise better, organize her home, and tackle nagging tasks. The first challenge she tackled was clutter. Her apartment was filled with piles of papers, outgrown children's clothes, and miscellaneous items that had no proper home. She discovered that outer order contributed to inner calm - when she cleared her physical space, her mind felt clearer too. One weekend, she devoted herself to organizing her daughter's room, sorting through toys and clothes. The transformation was remarkable - not just in the room itself, but in how she felt afterward: lighter, more in control. One of her most effective strategies was what she called "the one-minute rule" - anything that could be done in less than a minute would be done immediately. Hanging up a coat, filing a paper, responding to a simple email - these tiny actions, when completed promptly, prevented the buildup of clutter and unfinished tasks that could become overwhelming. This simple principle created a surprising ripple effect throughout her days. What Gretchen discovered in those early weeks was that happiness requires energy and effort. It's not something that simply happens to us - it's something we must actively pursue and create. By focusing on the fundamentals of physical well-being and creating order in her environment, she was building a foundation for deeper changes. The journey toward happiness, she realized, begins with these small, seemingly insignificant daily choices that ultimately shape our experience of life.
The morning I launched my happiness project, I felt both excited and skeptical. Could something as abstract as happiness really be approached systematically? I decided to begin with the most basic foundation: physical energy. Research consistently shows that our physical state dramatically affects our mental state. When we're tired, everything feels harder - even activities we normally enjoy become burdensome. My first resolution was deceptively simple: go to sleep earlier. Despite knowing the importance of sleep, I'd developed a habit of staying up late, sacrificing rest for a few precious hours of "me time" after my family was in bed. The first night I forced myself to turn off the lights at a reasonable hour, I felt a pang of resentment at giving up my alone time. But the next morning, waking naturally instead of to an alarm, I felt noticeably different - more patient with my children, more creative in my work, less irritable overall. Next came exercise. I'd always maintained a basic fitness routine, but I decided to add strength training. When a friend mentioned a gym with an efficient twenty-minute workout, I was intrigued. "You don't even sweat," she promised. This seemed too good to be true, but the trainer explained that lifting weights at the outer limit of my strength, with few repetitions, could be highly effective. Though expensive, the investment paid off in increased energy and confidence. Perhaps most surprising was how much my environment affected my energy. Clutter, I discovered, was a constant drain. Walking through my apartment with fresh eyes, I was amazed by how much unnecessary stuff had accumulated without my noticing. My closet became ground zero for my decluttering mission. Four bags of discarded clothes later, I felt exhilarated. The physical space created in my closet somehow created mental space as well. I also tackled "nagging tasks" - those small, postponed chores that occupy disproportionate mental real estate. Getting windows cleaned, setting up computer backups, scheduling medical check-ups - crossing these items off my list gave me a surprising boost of energy. Studies confirm this phenomenon: engineering an easy success, like completing a long-delayed task, is one of the most reliable ways to lift your mood. These seemingly mundane changes - more sleep, regular exercise, less clutter, fewer postponed tasks - created a foundation for everything that followed. Energy isn't just about physical vitality; it's about removing the small frictions and irritations that deplete us mentally and emotionally. By addressing these basics first, I created the capacity to pursue happiness in more complex domains. After all, it's difficult to contemplate life's deeper meanings when you're exhausted, surrounded by chaos, and overwhelmed by undone tasks.
"I don't really get it," my husband Jamie said as he lay on the floor doing his daily exercises. "You're already pretty happy, aren't you? If you were really unhappy, this would make more sense, but you're not." He paused. "You're not unhappy, are you?" His question made me reflect. I wasn't unhappy in my marriage - far from it. We'd been together eleven years, and I still considered our love extraordinary. Yet I'd noticed that the incidence of low-level bickering had increased significantly after our first daughter was born. I'd started doing too much complaining, nagging, and foot-dragging. It was time to address that. Research shows that marital satisfaction drops substantially after the first child arrives. The disruptive presence of babies and teenagers puts pressure on marriages, and discontent spikes during these stages. Jamie and I weren't in trouble - we showed affection openly, were indulgent with each other, and handled conflict reasonably well. But I had fallen into some bad habits that I wanted to change. One of my first marriage resolutions was to quit nagging. When Valentine's Day approached and I asked Jamie to help stuff envelopes for our yearly cards, he gave me a sad look and said, "Please don't make me." In the past, I would have insisted, pointing out that I'd done the hard part of ordering the cards and arranging for the photo. Instead, I said, "It's okay. Don't worry about it." I felt twinges of resentment watching him relax while I worked, but I enjoyed not feeling like a nag more than I enjoyed watching TV without licking envelopes. I also resolved to fight right. Too often, in a kind of one-sided mini-fight, I would lash out in sudden fits of temper that soured the household mood. Research shows that how a couple fights matters more than how much they fight. Couples who fight right tackle only one difficult topic at a time, ease into arguments instead of blowing up immediately, and make "repair attempts" to keep bad feelings from escalating. Perhaps most challenging was my resolution to "give proofs of love." I'd never forgotten something I read in college, by Pierre Reverdy: "There is no love; there are only proofs of love." Whatever love I might feel in my heart, others would see only my actions. I started telling Jamie "I love you" more often, hugging him more, and sending him enjoyable messages with interesting news or funny stories about our daughters. The changes in my behavior seemed to create a virtuous circle. When I stopped nagging Jamie to give me praise for my work, he spontaneously became more appreciative. When I made efforts to be more lighthearted, he responded in kind. This confirmed what research shows: happiness is contagious in marriage, with a 30 percent increase in one spouse's happiness boosting the other spouse's happiness as well. By focusing on changing my own behavior rather than trying to change Jamie, I created more love and harmony between us - proving that sometimes the best way to improve a relationship is simply to improve yourself.
"I wouldn't know how to do that," I answered when my literary agent suggested I start a blog. "It's too technical. I can barely figure out how to use TiVo." "These days, it's pretty easy to set up a blog," she said. "Think about it. I bet you'd really enjoy it." The idea stayed with me. Research had convinced me that challenge and novelty are key elements to happiness. The brain is stimulated by surprise, and successfully dealing with an unexpected situation gives a powerful sense of satisfaction. Starting a blog would connect me with others who shared my interests, give me a source of self-expression, and allow me to try convincing others to start their own happiness projects. Despite the potential benefits, I felt apprehensive. I worried about the time and effort a blog would consume when I already felt pressed for time. It would require me to make decisions I didn't feel equipped to make. It would expose me to public criticism and failure. It would make me feel stupid. After three weeks of confused poking around on the Internet, I cautiously opened an account on TypePad. Just this step—before I'd even made one decision about the blog—filled me with anxiety and elation. Each day, I spent an hour or so working on it, and slowly the blank template started to take shape. Finally, I took a deep breath and wrote my first post. Seeing that post hit the screen gave me an enormous rush of triumph. I couldn't believe I'd managed to do it. The experts had certainly been correct about the happiness effect of novelty, challenge, and an atmosphere of growth. However, I quickly discovered that even after launching it, my blog remained an excellent source of happiness through challenge. To put it more baldly, it often drove me crazy with frustration. The more I did, the more I wanted to do. I wanted to add images. I wanted to drop the word "typepad" out of my URL. I wanted to podcast. As I pushed myself on the blog, I wanted to extend myself in other parts of my work, too. I wanted to nudge myself out of my comfort zone into my stretch zone. To counteract my fear of failure, I told myself, "I enjoy the fun of failure." It's fun to fail, I kept repeating. It's part of being ambitious; it's part of being creative. If something is worth doing, it's worth doing badly. This mantra helped me. I applied to the prestigious writing colony Yaddo, and I wasn't accepted. I pitched a column to The Wall Street Journal, and although it looked promising, the editors ultimately told me there was no room for it. At the same time, risking failure gave me the opportunity to score some successes. I was invited to contribute to the enormously popular Huffington Post blog, and I started to get picked up by huge blogs like Lifehacker and Marginal Revolution. The experience taught me that happiness doesn't always make you feel happy. Pushing myself beyond my comfort zone often brought frustration and anxiety in the short term, but ultimately led to greater satisfaction and confidence. It also revealed that the journey itself can be more rewarding than reaching the destination. As Tal Ben-Shahar describes in his book Happier, we often fall prey to the "arrival fallacy" - the belief that when we arrive at a certain destination, we'll be happy. But arriving rarely makes us as happy as we anticipate. The challenge is to take pleasure in the gradual progress made toward a goal, in the present - what researchers call "pre-goal-attainment positive affect."
"I'd always vaguely expected to outgrow my limitations," I wrote in my journal one day. "One day, I'd stop twisting my hair, and wearing running shoes all the time, and eating exactly the same food every day. I'd remember my friends' birthdays, I'd learn Photoshop, I wouldn't let my daughter watch TV during breakfast. I'd read Shakespeare." This expectation - that someday I would magically transform into an ideal version of myself - was preventing me from accepting who I actually was. One of my Twelve Commandments became "Be Gretchen" - a reminder to acknowledge my true nature rather than fighting against it. This wasn't about complacency or giving up on self-improvement; it was about directing my energy toward changes that aligned with my authentic self rather than an imagined ideal. I discovered this principle applied to many areas of life. For instance, when thinking about leisure activities, I realized I should acknowledge what I truly enjoyed rather than what I wished I enjoyed. I love reading children's literature, not attending the opera. I prefer staying home to going out dancing. I'd rather reread a favorite novel than try the latest restaurant. These preferences weren't wrong - they were simply mine. This acceptance brought a kind of sadness. I would never visit a jazz club at midnight, hang out in artists' studios, jet off to Paris for the weekend, or pack up to go fly-fishing on a spring dawn. I wouldn't be admired for my chic wardrobe or be appointed to a high government office. It made me sad to realize my limitations. The world offers so much beauty, so much fun, and I am unable to appreciate most of it. But just as clearing away clutter in my closet had opened up more space for the possessions I really used, relinquishing my fantasies of what I wished I found fun allowed more room to do the things I did find fun. Why worry about jazz clubs when I really wanted to design my own Book of Hours? Be Gretchen. I also worked on becoming more mindful of small pleasures. One morning, I was standing calmly on a street corner with my arm outstretched for a taxi when a man came tearing up the street, flung out his arm, and jumped into the cab that should have been mine. I started to get indignant about his unforgivable rudeness; then I thought of all the reasons that a person might be desperate to steal the first taxi he saw. Was he rushing to the hospital? Had he forgotten to pick up his child at school? I wasn't in any rush. I should cut the guy some slack. This practice of "finding explanations in charity" - assuming the best rather than the worst about others - became a powerful tool for maintaining my equanimity. So did learning to "acknowledge the reality of people's feelings" - particularly with my children. Too often, I contradicted my children's assertions of their feelings: "You're not afraid of clowns," "You can't possibly want more Legos, you never play with the ones you have," "You're not hungry, you just ate." I discovered that just repeating what my child was saying, to show that I appreciated her point of view, was often enough to bring peace. Instead of saying to my daughter, "Don't whine, you love to take a bath!" I said, "You're having fun playing. You don't want to take a bath now, even though it's time." This strategy was astoundingly effective - suggesting that much of children's frustration comes not from being forced to do this or that but rather from the sheer fact that they're being ignored. As my happiness project progressed, I realized that mindfulness wasn't about grand spiritual practices or dramatic life changes. It was about paying attention to what was actually happening rather than what I thought should be happening. It was about accepting my true preferences rather than fighting them. And it was about finding joy in the ordinary moments that make up most of our lives - a good night's sleep, a meaningful conversation, a moment of play with my children.
The relationship between money and happiness was one of the most interesting, most complicated, and most sensitive questions in my study of happiness. People, including the experts, seemed very confused. I was skeptical of much of what I read. In particular, I kept seeing the argument "Money can't buy happiness," but it certainly seemed that people appear fairly well convinced about the significance of money to their happiness. Studies show that people in wealthier countries do report being happier than people in poorer countries, and within a particular country, people with more money do tend to be happier than those with less. According to a 2006 Pew Research Center study, 49 percent of people with an annual family income of more than $100,000 said they were "very happy," in contrast to 24 percent of those with an annual family income of less than $30,000. After much reflection, I had an Epiphany of the Back Spasm. One day I injured my back lifting my daughter incorrectly. For weeks, I was in pain, couldn't sit long, found it hard to type, and had trouble sleeping. Finally, I visited a physical therapist and after two visits, I was 100 percent better. It felt like a miracle. And one day after my pain was gone, I took my health for granted once again. That's when it hit me: Money doesn't buy happiness the way good health doesn't buy happiness. When money or health is a problem, you think of little else; when it's not a problem, you don't think much about it. Both money and health contribute to happiness mostly in the negative; the lack of them brings much more unhappiness than possessing them brings happiness. With this insight, I resolved to "Indulge in a modest splurge" - to find ways to spend money that would further my happiness goals. I wanted to spend money to stay in closer contact with my family and friends; to promote my energy and health; to create a more serene environment in my apartment; to work more efficiently; to eliminate sources of boredom, irritation, and marital conflict; to support causes that I thought important; and to have experiences that would enlarge me. For health and energy, I continued my strength-training workouts despite the expense. For work, I bought some high-quality pens. It's such a joy to write with a good pen instead of making do with an underinked pharmaceutical promotional pen. For happy memories, I arranged to have professional photographs taken of our children. These photographs were far better than any snapshot I could take, and I bought several for us and for the grandparents, too. I also recognized my tendency toward "underbuying" - delaying purchases or buying as little as possible. I buy saline solution, which I use twice a day, one little bottle at a time. I scramble to buy items like a winter coat or a bathing suit after the point at which I need them. As an underbuyer, I often feel stressed because I don't have the things I need. I make a lot of late-night runs to the drugstore. I'm surrounded with things that are shabby, don't really work, or aren't exactly suitable. By contrast, "overbuyers" often lay in huge supplies of slow-use items like shampoo or cough medicine. They buy things with the thought "This will probably come in handy someday." They make a lot of purchases before they go on a trip or celebrate a holiday. Like underbuyers, overbuyers feel stressed - they're oppressed by the number of errands they feel obliged to do and by the clutter and waste often created by their overbuying. Understanding these patterns helped me make more mindful decisions about spending. I realized that money, spent wisely, can indeed contribute to happiness - not by buying luxury items that quickly lose their appeal, but by removing sources of irritation, supporting meaningful relationships, and creating opportunities for growth and experience. The key is to spend in alignment with your values and to recognize that while money can't guarantee happiness, it can certainly remove many obstacles to it.
As her year-long project drew to a close, Gretchen reflected on what had changed. Friends and family noticed differences - she seemed "lighter," more relaxed, less prone to snapping. Her husband Jamie, though he claimed nothing had changed, had actually transformed in subtle ways - taking on tasks he'd never done before, remembering her birthday without prompting, even organizing a family party. The most powerful tool in her happiness arsenal had been her Resolutions Chart. By providing a framework for accountability and daily review, it kept her focused on her goals and made her aware of patterns in her behavior. She discovered an important distinction between goals and resolutions: "You hit a goal, you keep a resolution." Running a marathon is a goal - specific, measurable, and completed once achieved. "Sing in the morning" or "Exercise better" are resolutions - ongoing practices that require daily commitment. One evening, Jamie called Gretchen away from her computer to "gaze lovingly" at their sleeping children - a ritual they performed occasionally. Though she initially resisted, wanting to finish her work, she joined him at their daughter Eleanor's doorway. They watched her small figure flung across the pile of books she insisted on keeping in her crib. "Someday we'll look back," Gretchen said, "and it will be hard to remember that we ever had such little kids." Jamie squeezed her hand and replied, "We'll say, 'That was such a happy time.'" This moment crystallized what Gretchen had learned throughout her project: happiness comes not from extraordinary achievements or dramatic life changes, but from appreciating the ordinary moments that make up our days. The ruby slippers had been on her feet all along; the bluebird was singing outside her kitchen window. She didn't need to transform her life to find happiness - she needed to transform her awareness. Perhaps the most unexpected outcome was how her project influenced others. Readers of her blog began sharing their own happiness projects - a couple creating resolutions to strengthen their marriage after a difficult period, a man who resolved to take a class, volunteer, and join a group, finding that these simple actions led to his "best experiences this year." An 86-year-old woman, inspired by Gretchen's advice to "enjoy what you have," finally unpacked cherished family heirlooms she'd kept boxed away for years. When asked if she was truly happier after her year of effort, Gretchen answered with certainty: "Absolutely!" Though she hadn't used any scientific measurements to track her progress, she knew without doubt that her quality of life had improved. Her biggest happiness boosts had come from eliminating sources of bad feelings - snapping, nagging, gossiping, being surrounded by clutter, eating poorly. By gaining control of these negative patterns, she created space for more positive experiences and connections. The happiness project taught Gretchen that while we can't change our basic temperament, we can change our actions and attitudes in ways that significantly enhance our experience of life. Happiness isn't a destination we reach once and for all, but a practice we cultivate daily through awareness, intention, and effort. By making small, concrete changes in our ordinary routines, we can discover extraordinary joy in the life we already have.
After a full year of methodically pursuing happiness, I discovered something both obvious and profound: happiness isn't something that simply happens to us - it's something we make. Through deliberate choices, conscious habits, and daily practices, we can significantly increase our experience of joy, engagement, and satisfaction. The most powerful revelation wasn't that I needed to transform my life dramatically, but rather that I needed to appreciate it more fully and address the small frictions that drained my energy and dampened my spirits. The journey revealed several universal truths about happiness. First, our physical state profoundly affects our mental state - adequate sleep, regular exercise, and an orderly environment create the foundation for everything else. Second, relationships matter most - the quality of our connections with others is the strongest predictor of happiness across cultures and circumstances. Third, both challenge and leisure are essential - we need the satisfaction of growth and achievement balanced with genuine fun and relaxation. And finally, happiness requires authenticity - accepting our true nature rather than struggling to become someone we're not. As one reader commented after following her own happiness project: "I've given myself permission to say that quiet, solitary pleasures are what make me happy - and that's okay."
“The belief that unhappiness is selfless and happiness is selfish is misguided. It's more selfless to act happy. It takes energy, generosity, and discipline to be unfailingly lighthearted, yet everyone takes the happy person for granted. No one is careful of his feelings or tries to keep his spirits high. He seems self-sufficient; he becomes a cushion for others. And because happiness seems unforced, that person usually gets no credit.” ― Gretchen Rubin, The Happiness Project
Strengths: Rubin's practical approach and relatable narrative stand out as key strengths, providing readers with a structured framework through monthly resolutions. Her candidness about personal successes and setbacks adds authenticity, while the blend of personal anecdotes, research, and actionable advice keeps the content engaging and motivating. The emphasis on mindfulness, gratitude, and self-reflection offers valuable insights into the pursuit of happiness. Weaknesses: The book's relatability is questioned by some, as Rubin's personal circumstances, such as financial stability and a supportive family, may not reflect the realities faced by all readers. Additionally, the tone occasionally comes across as self-indulgent or repetitive, which can detract from the overall message for certain audiences. Overall Sentiment: The general reception is positive, with readers finding the book inspiring and accessible. Many appreciate its motivating approach to self-improvement and the practical framework it provides for pursuing happiness. Key Takeaway: Happiness is a personal journey that can be cultivated through small, intentional changes, emphasizing the significance of habits and living in the present moment.
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By Gretchen Rubin