Every time I read the news or check Twitter or Facebook, I am inundated with words and images that would have me believe everything is awful and degraded, and that the currencies of participation in these apparently awful and degraded times are cynicism, fear, fatalism, and hatred.
And then whenever I log off, I find a litany of reasons to look forward to a bright future for humankind. Part of that, to be sure, has to do with the fact that I enjoy a steep measure of blessing and privilege, both in what I have and who I am. But part of it also has to do with something I learned a number of years ago, at the tail end of a time when, like now, I had everything I needed to be happy and healthy, but, unlike now, was not.
The lesson was simple and profound: One of the only things—perhaps the only thing—under our control in this world is our manner of approach to it.
To be clear, I am not implying that a good attitude will cure all suffering or illness. A positive mindset will not render you impervious to disappointment and sorrow. One cannot gratitude-transform a jackass co-worker into a new best friend. A hopeful outlook will not solve all your problems.
So, fine: attitude is not a magic bullet. But it exerts tremendous influence over our lives nonetheless; it affects the way we interpret our lives much the same as lenses might affect the way we see. For example, if you approach your life with a determination to learn from your experiences and the people and ideas you encounter, then that will be the principle that guides you forth. In that scenario, and with that metaphorical compass, you will indeed learn and grow, simply because you will continue to seek the lesson until you find it. See? Simple and profound.
I refuse to buy into the paradigm of bad news and unkind treatment of other people. I want to seek a better, more hopeful world, and I think I have the ability—I think we all have the ability—to help create it, one moment, one conversation, and one day at a time.

James Altucher, a man I've never met and likely never will, just changed my life for the better -- again.

For those who aren't familiar, Altucher, among other things, is the author of Choose Yourself, which is probably one of the most practical, accessible, and useful "self-help" books ever written. He also regularly contributes blog posts and articles on his website, as well as on Quora and Medium. And he has a great podcast.

I've been enjoying and benefiting from Altucher's work for a couple years or so, but, until this morning, I hadn't read any of his articles in a few months. Life has been unusually hectic lately, what with a visit home for the holidays, moving to a new town, getting a new puppy, and hiring and training two new employees at work.

Taken at face value, none of that that sounds particularly noteworthy, but to me, they have signaled near-complete disruption. Everything has changed, from where I go grocery shopping to how I spend my time at work to how much (how little, actually) I've been sleeping to how much dog pee I have to clean up off the floor.

All these changes have converged on my life and taken a taken a swift and hard toll on my well-being. I'm a person who needs a fair amount of maintenance, upkeep, and recharge time in order to be well; and since I haven't been able to maintain, keep up with myself, or take the time to recharge, I have not been especially well.

What does that mean? It means I've been anxious, angry, and frazzled more often than not, which, in turn, means that I've been lousy company, both to others and to myself. It's no fun, no good, and completely unsustainable when you can't stand yourself. It's a pathway to destruction and misery. 

I've traveled that path before, and I want no part of it again.

What I lost sight of is the fact that I can do things -- simple, quick, and easy things -- that cultivate health and happiness in my life. Moreover, I lost sight of the fact that the linchpin of my happiness is my relationship with myself. 

James Altucher's work wasn't my introduction to that lesson, and his work isn't my sole means of remembering and practicing it; but that does not diminish the fact that his work has been and continues to be of profound use to me -- just like it was this morning with his latest article.

Thank you, James.

One of the reasons for my month-plus hiatus from this site is that we moved from our apartment in Fort Collins to a condo in Loveland. The process of moving was brutal, naturally; but it was a good move, you know? For one thing, the rental market in northern Colorado is getting both expensive and volatile, meaning we couldn't really predict what our new monthly rent would be—and whether we could reasonably afford it—once our current lease expired in May. 

I'll miss Fort Collins, but I'm happy with our newfound modicum of stability where monthly expenditures are concerned. Plus, the place is really nice, and was basically "turn-key." It's all worked out very well, and I'm glad for it.

One of the other perks of our new digs is that both of us are now much closer to work. A shorter commute equals fewer dollars spent on gas and vehicle upkeep, fewer particles of vaporized dinosaur sludge getting spewed into the atmosphere, and hours of our lives back each and every week. For me, my old 45 or 50 minute commute (each way) has been reduced to about 25 or 30 minutes. That time adds up very quickly, and I'm grateful to have it back.

I'm still not used to it, though. A year and a half of commuting from my old place in FoCo to my office in Greeley has programmed my sense of the duration of my commute accordingly. So when I rolled up to campus this morning having only been driving my car for a half hour, my arrival felt strange, sudden, and jarring.

And then I noticed the reaction that prompted me to write this article: I felt sadness.  

Okay, yes, there have been benefits to my longer commute. It's given me the chance to listen to, and stay current on, a number of excellent podcasts; and it's afforded me some alone time, which I both enjoy and need in certain doses.

However, all things considered, my feeling of sadness is almost completely illogical. It isn't as if I'm altogether losing any of the perks of the commute: I'll still have my podcasts, and I'll still have my alone time. So what gives?

I think it's just a matter of conditioning, plain and simple. Here I had this well-established, highly reinforced, inexorable routine that was, in sum, less than ideal: While it kept me employed and provided some immediate psychological benefits, its expenditures of time and money were, according to my values and circumstances, too steep. 

But it was my commute. It was what I was used to. On some deep, irrational, animal level, I was attached to my commute, I was in control of my commute, and it didn't matter a whit that it wasn't all that great for me. 

To my way of thinking, those deep-brain, subconscious, "animal" sensibilities offset my more rational self—the piece that may have, if left to its own devices, demanded a lifestyle change much sooner—and conspired to keep me in a state of benign, unthinking acceptance of the commute.

Of course, the stakes of all this were and are fairly low, insofar as we're not talking about behavior that was actively harming my or another's well-being. But it's easy, perhaps, for one to extrapolate the process I underwent to behaviors with altogether more serious pitfalls and ramifications. Food for thought there, maybe.

For my part, that moment of sadness didn't linger too terribly long. But it demonstrated to me the power of habit, and the trickiness and unreliability of our emotional feedback system when we try to change.