The Geography of Bliss

THE GEOGRAPHY OF BLISS
One Grump's Search for the Happiest Places in the World
Eric Weiner
ISBN: 9780446580267
TWELVE (2008)




Hot on the heels of recent academic studies of the world’s happiest places, former NPR correspondent Eric Weiner set out on a global road trip to find out for himself what makes a place — and a people — happy or unhappy.

“The Geography of Bliss” is the thought-provoking and laugh-out-loud funny result of his personal happiness adventure.

When I’d heard the result of one of these happiness research studies — that Denmark is the happiest place on Earth — that made a certain amount of sense to me. I’d visited Denmark, have friends who live there, and respect and even admire some of their more important governmental policies. Truth be told, I’d whimsically imagined living there myself, and I’ve often thought that the ideal place to raise a child would be in a Scandinavian country.

But truly the absolute happiest place on Earth? How can you measure something that by its very nature seems so intrinsically subjective? I jumped at the chance to read Weiner’s book, just as soon as I could get my hands on it from the library.

In his own quest to figure out how to quantify happiness, Weiner visits The Netherlands — home to the World Database of Happiness, dedicated to the study of happiness — Switzerland, Bhutan, Qatar, Iceland, Moldova, Thailand, Great Britain and India before taking a quick look at his home country, the United States.

I had been thinking just this morning about how Americans for the most part still hear the sirens’ cry of our pioneer ancestry. We’re mobile people, much more so than folks in most other countries, and we aren’t as personally and stubbornly attached to specific geography. It’s not unreasonable, in this country, to move someplace else in search of your bliss. Sure, there’s the occasional turf war here, but it’s nothing like the centuries’ old conflicts still raging today in other parts of the globe. For the most part, we’re just not as deeply rooted in geography.

Finding Weiner coming to much this same conclusion at the close of his book felt both validating and comforting. Several years back, I’d left my Virginian roots to head West in search of my own bliss. While I’ve found room to grow and explore and even blossom in my new home, I’ve recently started feeling that American restlessness again — the “grass is always greener” syndrome” — and had quietly started fantasizing about uprooting once again and hitting the road in search of the next iteration of personal happiness.

Sometimes literally changing your surroundings brings that shift in perspective that can be necessary for personal breakthrough, or for deeper appreciation and understanding of your individual place in the world. I believe that’s what Weiner found to be true along his journeys. For me, as tempting as it is, I doubt I need the physical jump to stimulate or symbolize my inner growth. And when I’m feeling restless, I can always take a road trip of a more temporary variety, perhaps head out to find what makes other people happy where they are.

I’ve spoken with several friends about this book while I was reading it, and most have asked the same question: “What have you learned?”

I’ve learned, not so surprisingly, that different things make different people happy. That money doesn’t buy happiness — in the case of Qatar, sitting complacently atop the global oil lottery — and lack of money doesn’t necessarily mean the lack of happiness. It’s relationships and communities that matter.

Most of this is rather intuitive, but it still sometimes takes hard evidence — or at least experiential evidence — to make it ring true. Traveling the world with Weiner through his words offers personal and thoughtful perspective on the rather elusive and difficult study of happiness, and I’m left with a stronger belief that people are generally about as happy as they make up their minds to be (and to pursue).

I also, rather surprisingly, learned that I might not be a bad fit for Iceland, and that there is at least one person in the world whose addiction to functional bags is quite a bit worse than my own.

Suddenly Jewish (Barbara Kessel)

SUDDENLY JEWISH
Jews Raised as Gentiles Discover Their Jewish Roots
by Barbara Kessel
ISBN: 978-1584656203
Brandeis University Press (2000)


Over the space of 15 months, Barbara Kessel interviewed the men and women who responded to her advertisement seeking people who had been raised non-Jews but who had discovered Jewish roots. She posted her notices in the New York Times Book Review, on adoption websites, genealogy sites, and the like. Kessel wanted to find out what happens to your sense of self when it turns out your family is not who you thought they were.

When I first spotted this title at Powells City of Books, I felt immediately rooted to the spot (no pun intended). There had been vague references to Jewish ancestry on my mother's side of the family, but nothing that was discussed in detail. I hadn't connected this lineage to my own interest in Judaism -- reaching back to elementary school -- until that very moment. Odd, but that's just how things work sometimes.

I took a quick look at the book and flipped through its pages, but slipped it back onto the shelf. I was intrigued, but also a bit thunderstruck. I needed some time to sit with this.

Not long after, I was back at the bookstore, where I sat down and read through the introduction and chapter on Crypto Jews. I felt a rush of something -- calling it 'destiny' sounds much too melodramatic; memory? belonging? -- and I knew that the paradigm of my own self-identity was shifting, though that in and of itself is not unusual for me. Still, I put the book back on the shelf, again, and went home.

Borrowing "Suddenly Jewish" from the library felt less binding -- if I didn't buy it, I wasn't necessarily committed to Judaism, right? It's a rather slender volume of 127 pages, yet I took weeks to read it. The stories are riveting. Page after page of personal accounts of descendants of survivors of the Inquisition, who had converted to save their lives; of children in Europe who were hidden with Christian families to save them from the Nazis; of people whose parents survived the Holocaust and kept their Jewish heritage secret for years afterwards in an effort to forget; of Jewish-born infants adopted by Christian families, who went hunting for their birth heritage decades later.

It wasn't long before I was digging into my own roots, tracing the family line back to Breslau (in modern-day Poland) in the late 1600s, when my ancestor, Baruch Judah, left for the American colonies. I assume he made the move to escape the Hapsburgs' forced conversion of the region back to Catholicism. As near as I can tell, it was my maternal grandmother's father, Horatio Sharrett -- the son of a Jewish mother and a Huguenot father -- who was raised in an inter-religious home, but I know nothing of his personal faith. I do know that my grandmother was a devout Christian by the time I knew her, though the cousins on my grandfather's side always suspected her of having Jewish roots.

Where does this leave me? Excited, nervous, proud, confused, righteous, speculative.... You name it. I look back on my previous travels in the Middle East and realize I now might not be received as hospitably in some areas. In Egypt, I absolutely had to visit the Ben Ezra Synagogue in Old Cairo, though I couldn't really explain why I was drawn there. I remember the times as a child that I knew in my heart I wasn't a 'real Christian,' but didn't dare tell anyone. In grade school, when we were being taught to be more 'multi-cultural,' I was the class dreidel champion and asked my mother if we could make popovers alongside the Christmas cookies.

Some branches of Judaism recognize me as a 'reclaimed Jew,' while others might charitably consider me just another 'wannabe.' But I have been making inquiries at synagogues in my area, and have been reconsidering some of the assumptions I've made about myself in my life. In the meantime, I'm keeping weekly shabbat with my dog and cats. The cats aren't so much interested, but the dog has developed a taste for challah and has learned to stick close to me as soon as I start lighting candles.

When I think to myself, "I am a Jew," I want to cry -- tears of relief, of fear, of homecoming. This is far from the end of my personal spiritual journey, but I feel as though I've just reached into my pocket and pulled out an ancient map I didn't know I'd been carrying with me all along.

NEXT (Michael Crichton)

NEXT
Michael Crichton
ISBN: 978-0-06-087298-4
HarperCollins (2006)

I've been reading plenty of books in the 18 months or so since I last posted a "book blog" entry. I've been a lazy blogger. I admit it.

After waiting for my number to come up for this book on loan from the library, I began reading "NEXT" late Thursday night. Actually, I only read the introduction and then went to sleep. Then I picked it up the next afternoon. This book became my Friday night date, and I finished it Saturday morning.

"NEXT" is a well-timed book about genetic engineering -- specifically, our total lack of legal, social, and ethical preparation for how to handle this science that is growing by leaps and bounds.

This is not a ground-breaking or earth-shattering book, but it is a page-turner, despite some editorial errors: in one case, a genetic experiment which had nothing to do with sexuality or gender identity was mistakenly referred to as "transgender," rather than "transgenic."

Did the book make me think? Probably not in the way the author and publisher intended. Genetic engineering has been on many people's radar for a good while, and there's little news coming out of this arena that shocks me. A number of years ago, I just started assuming that human cloning projects were already underway and all manner of experiments had at least been attempted, at some time in some place.

Do I think that we have the necessary wisdom to make sensible and ethical decisions about the short- and long-term impact of genetic manipulation? As a mass consciousness, no, not so much. As individuals, some of us do, many of us don't.

I do admire Crichton's ability to interweave so many characters and sub-plots, while introducing expository information in just the right amount at just the right time. Many authors struggle with this -- Dan Brown in particular. While being carried along by the story, I was also studying Crichton's style, and am understanding why he's such a popular author -- even though his books tend to be rather long and scientifically dense (if not always completely accurate).

I love it when I get hooked like this by a book. I remember similar marathon reads of Crichton's "Jurassic Park" and "Timeline." I also hate it -- because I was already really tired when I started reading, and had a lot of other things to get done in that period of time. Still, I found myself carrying some saltines to bed Friday night, so I could keep reading while actually eating something (since I'd forgotten about food for a while).

Now, it's back to the library for this book, so the next patron can have a go at it. I hope that person will enjoy it as much as I did. In the meantime, I've got many more titles waiting for me....

Nickel and Dimed (Barbara Ehrenreich)

Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting by in America
Barbara Ehrenreich
ISBN: 0805063897
Owl Books (May 1, 2002)

Not quite a week ago, I caught an episode of Morgan Spurlock's new "30 Days" television series on FX. In this particular episode, Spurlock and his fiancée attempted to live on minimum wage for a month. I found this hour-long program to offer such an eye-opening window on the lives of the working poor in my own backyard that I immediately e-mailed almost everyone I know to try to get them to watch the program as well.

Within minutes of my spam message, I received two replies that recommended the same book: Barbara Ehrenreich's "Nickel and Dimed," detailing the author's experiences living paycheck-to-paycheck in a number of low paying jobs in several different American cities. I went online and found that my local library had a copy available, so I placed my reserve request and picked it up on Friday afternoon. (I love my library's online system, by the way.)

I dove into Ehrenreich's account as soon as I got home, and if I'd not gone out with friends both Friday and Saturday nights -- and Sunday afternoon, as I was having an usually social weekend -- I would have easily finished the book in twenty-four hours, simply because it is honestly that engaging. Ehrenreich has an easy and entertaining writing style, even when approaching a topic so daunting, and so significant as the struggle of survivability on below-poverty-level incomes here in the richest country on the planet.

What she reveals of her experience is staggering: a nation full of low-wage workers, on whose cheap labor the rest of us unknowingly depend, themselves struggling to make even the simplest of ends meet while going without very basic needs like good nutrition, decent housing, and health insurance. While I've long been a supporter of a true "living wage" here in the United States -- and yes, I know this means that I'd have to pay more for just about everything, to off-set the increased labor costs -- I truly had no idea how desperate, depressing, and downright dehumanizing the life of a low-wage worker can be.

I'm a trained and bred member of the upper-middle class. I grew up in a good neighborhood and went to a competitive private school, later attending a private university; though I worked several jobs in college -- in the bookstore, student grocery store, and student housing office -- all I had to worry about was making enough money to buy textbooks and supplies and to pay for the occasional pizza or movie outing with friends, as my tuition, room, and board were taken care of for me. I always had a solid roof over my head, decent clothes to wear, and enough food to eat. I didn't live a completely sheltered life, but I didn't have many friends or even acquaintances whose families would be classified as "working poor." The closest understanding I had to the stark reality of this term came from sound-bytes on the nightly news and sit-com television.

When my sister took a job as a waitress while she was in college, I heard about what difficult work that is and how tips are a very necessary source of income, rather than just something extra a customer leaves on the table to be nice. I learned to be a generous tipper and secretly congratulated myself on that.

When I was fresh out of college and entering the working world in a terrible economic slump, I felt lucky to land a $6-per-hour receptionist job in Los Angeles. I shared an apartment, went out very little, frequented the local library, didn't eat very well, and seldom spent money on myself. Living in the glamour of LA, I knew I was poor, but I wasn't homeless, as were so many of my fellow Angelinos. Although my share of the rent was more than $400 each month -- with utilities on top of that -- I still managed to save a decent amount of money, which supported me after I left my job and prepared to move back to Virginia.

Since then, there have been times of "feast" or "famine," but all in comparison to the comfortable life of my childhood. What do I know about not making enough to pay the rent, or of not having any food to eat for days on end? Not much. Plus, even in those leaner times, I didn't have any children to support. I had a college degree, on top of my prep school education. I had a decent car in good condition. I was young, healthy, and strong and didn't need to worry about health insurance or prescription medications. I knew I had family to fall back on if things took a serious turn for the worse.

It is my firm belief that there is more than enough of everything to go around in this world -- enough food, enough money, enough educational opportunities, enough shared smiles. We just have to get better about sharing openly with one another, about not turning a blind-eye to a brother or sister in need, and treating each other with the dignity and respect we each deserve.

The Burning Times (Jeanne Kalogridis)

The Burning Times : A Novel of Medieval France
by Jeanne Kalogridis
ISBN: 0684869241
Simon & Schuster


A few weeks back, I checked this book out of the library for a re-read, having initially read "The Burning Times" nearly a year ago.

I hadn't expected to get hooked when I first picked up "The Burning Times," but let's just say that I didn't get much accomplished that particular weekend other than reading this novel straight through. I had thought I would be reading a fairly mundane story about the inquisition and medieval witch burnings, and I was happily caught off-guard by Kalogridis' more trascendent tale. This is no stereotypical tale of the good old days of magickal arts being driven underground by the mad inquisitors, or of religious intolerance gone awry.

"The Burning Times" is a story that can be understood on a number of levels (which is why I wanted to read it again so soon), and the message about the unfortunate consequences of love tainted with fear -- even with the best intentions -- is a quite relevant and timely one just now. Not surprisingly, the main obstacle that the two main characters must face is the darkness within themselves: an evil that the vast majority of us do not even have the courage to acknowledge, much less to stare it down and accept it as a part of ourselves.

We are none of us perfect beings, and in many cases, this "darker self" is nothing more than the fearful self. The more we lock away and fear our own fear, the more powerful that fear becomes.... Until we become that which we fear most. Indeed, in "The Burning Times," the most powerful inquisitors are those who are blessed with "The Sight" but who are so fearful of their own gift that they seek out and destroy all others who are similarly blessed, instead of recognizing the gift for what it is and using it as a powerful tool for light and healing.

Obviously this speaks volumes to any kind of active intolerance -- such as racial prejudice and homophobia -- but I can't help seeing the parallel between this story and the current "war on terrorism." To put it bluntly, Americans have become so afraid of being the targets of a violent holy war that we have essentially instigated a violent holy war, full of prejudice, intolerance, arrogance, and of course fear.

More personally, so many of us live within the bonds of fear, not even realizing that we are our own jailers, and that we can release ourselves at any moment we choose. We choose security instead of "living out loud," and choose the "safer" option when making life's decisions. But if we were to give up fear, would we be so concerned about safety and security? In my own life, I have found that "playing it safe" is far more costly than embracing the risks. I simply don't want to get to the end of my life wondering "what if" over all of the safe choices I made.

As an "empathic reader," I could feel the author's own struggle with the material and her fear about what others might think -- though Kalogridis likely didn't intend for this to come across, it's a demon I've struggled with in my own writing. The dance of Kalogridis' devil was quite subtle, and it was encouraging to watch her confidence grow with each successive page of the story.

These "Burning Times" characters wrestle with being true to themselves -- and trying to live "authentic lives" -- in a world that doesn't understand them, and that chooses to fear and to hate them as a result. Those looking to this narrative for basic information on Wicca or witchcraft will be disappointed, though there are references to ritual elements and medicinal healing arts. Instead, I found this tale to be a study in the alchemy that we work on our own hearts and minds as we try to make peace simultaneously with our souls and with the world around us.

This is a tug-of-war that I face every day. Not only is it an external struggle between who I am and what the world tells me I'm supposed to be, but there is a very personal, internal battle of my heart and soul against my mind -- more specifically, railing against the expectations and restrictions that were drilled into me at such a young age. Once those rules become an ingrained part of who you are and how you interact with the world, it doesn't matter if they are constructive or not, healthy or not, or even true or not, because they are already part of your core programming. Just as one of the main characters in "Burning Times" is more or less brainwashed -- bewitched, more accurately -- into forgetting who he truly is and into living a life in darkness, we pull this same number on ourselves each and every day, often not even realizing how we are participating in and even orchestrating our own "dark ages."

Are we that afraid to know the truth about ourselves? Reading "The Burning Times" gives a clue to some of the wonderful possibilities that may be awaiting us, should we merely find the courage to open our hearts and minds.

Pay It Forward (Catherine Ryan Hyde)

Pay It Forward
by Catherine Ryan Hyde
ISBN: 0743412028
Pocket Books


If I hadn't had anything else on my plate, I would have read Catherine Ryan Hyde's "Pay It Forward" straight through. Even so, I pushed some things off and shuffled the schedule around in order to make time for reading.

I had seen the movie a few years ago, but hadn't been aware until recently that it had been based on a book. Usually the books are better and more satisfying than the movies that are based on them, so I was happy to find a copy of "Pay It Forward" in my local library. After reading it, in the space of about twenty-four hours, I am giving each family member a copy.

It's true I'm an avid reader and take great pleasure getting lost in a good story, but I don't usually become quite so emotionally involved in a book that I burst into tears in just the first few pages. This is what happened with Hyde's novel, and it set the tone for the rest of the story. The writer's honest and compassionate style of writing is deceptively simple. Her characters are far from extraordinary and can be downright maddening in their very human foibles, but this is precisely what makes them so accessible. For the most part, these are not enviable, heroic people, and they often reflect back to us the worst and most frustrating aspects of ourselves.

Arlene revealed to me what could have become of my own life, at least in one particular aspect: she is an alcoholic, struggling with getting sober. She'll get a few days or even a few months in, and then it's all over in one night when life simply gets too tough. And even when she does manage to leave the alcohol behind, she is forced to look herself right in the face, warts and all, whether she wants to or not. What I do remember of the first few years of sobriety was a similarly shaky emotional rollercoaster, accompanied by brutal reality that was often way too real.

And so I was ripped raw by a simple entry from her son's diary, before Arlene's story began to unfold. Trevor, who invents the idea of "paying it forward," compares his mother to a child with a medical condition that leaves him without the ability to feel pain, only Trevor sees that Arlene is like that on the inside. He writes that she knows not to "keep putting her hand on the hot stove," and yet she keeps doing it anyway -- knowing that she is hurting herself, but unable to stop, and unable to really feel the pain.

The title, of course, is taken from a school project that Trevor turns in for his social studies class. Accepting an assignment to come up with an idea that can change the world, Trevor maps out a plan to help three people -- really help them, to have a positive, life-altering impact -- and then instead of asking those people to pay him back, require instead that they "pay it forward" to another three people, who then each will pay it forward to another three, and so on. The idea is brilliant in its simplicity, and incredibly powerful in action. Assuming that everyone follows through. Trusting another human being with so large a task, especially in today's cynical, closed-off society, is not small feat in itself, regardless of the results.

Hyde masterfully tracks the starts and stops in the lives of her characters as they reach for, then reject, then reach for again the growth, the happiness, and the real living that are rightfully theirs.

Ultimately, I found this story to be about compassion, about putting aside your ego for one moment, for one beautiful opportunity to be truly present for another human being in need, with absolutely no thought of what you're going to get in return. Because the whole point is to keep that "compassion in action" moving ever forward, spreading vigilantly across the globe. The miraculous side benefit to these acts of altruism is proving to yourself that regardless of how low and useless you think you might be, you can and do have power to impact the world around you -- and that kind of honest self-realization changes you. Your priorities change, your principles shift, and you find that you are not at all the person you once thought you were. You are plugged into something larger than yourself; you belong; you are an active co-creator in the world at large.

Sure, I knew where the book was headed, because even with all of the differences between the text and the screen, I'd seen the movie, and the story is largely the same. Even so, I was astonished to find myself in need of a fresh kleenex every couple of pages as the book drew to a close. The incredible potential for the planet that this book describes has simply rattled me to my core. It's so simple, really. How easy it would be, through intentional, deliberate action, to change another person's life for the better. To help someone who is down on his luck to get back on his feet again. To help an at-risk teenager afford an education. To help a struggling family set up a home of their own. To help a single mother find a decent job. To be the gift of friendship in the life of a lonely neighbor. To help an adult learn how to read. To simply show up for someone, especially a complete stranger, and ask, "How can I help?"

We each have that power in our hands, at this very moment. How many such moments have we let slip by, unrealized?