The Happiness Box

It’s been a little while since I’ve written. Two weeks to be exact. But it has been an important and eventful two weeks. For starters I am officially in my mid-twenties now. Older, yes. Wiser, hopefully.

The actual date of my birth this year happened to land on a Jewish holiday known as Sukkot. 

I know, I know. The holidays. The Jewishness. I promise that even though I’m about to jack yet another lesson from a rabbi, this is actually not about Judaism. 

It’s about a children’s book.

For back story purposes: Sukkot is a holiday that lasts a week and comes after Yom Kippur. It’s the occasion for all of those random huts popping up all over Brooklyn and Forest Hills, Queens. It is supposed to be a week of celebration for the harvest after the reflection (also known as harrowing hunger and thirst) that is Kippur. So...happiness. Got it.

Well on my birthday, a gifted young rabbi at Beth Torah in Flatbush, Brooklyn—I know, it can’t get much more Jewish—talked to us about the children’s story The Happiness Box. [Note: I have not been able to locate said book, but this is how the sermon was told.] 

As the story goes there is a little boy who is pessimistic and cynical and has a terrible outlook on life. (They grow up so fast these days.) Everyone else gets presents, everyone else has what he does not. And when his dad buys his mom a washing machine, that is the last straw (in my uncle’s retelling of this sermon the gift was a washing machine...I don’t remember if this is accurate or not. Nevertheless...). The boy’s father says “But I did get you a gift. The gift is the box and inside of it you will be happy.” Well the boy starts to play inside the box and he loves the box. He is always happy when he is in the box. It’s his happy place. But when he packs for summer camp, the happiness box will not fit in his duffel. How will he ever be happy?

Somehow (through some rabbi-editing) the boy realizes that the happiness was in his mind all the time.

On Sukkot, we live our lives for seven days in our happiness boxes—those huts I mentioned that line Ocean Parkway. But after the holiday ends, it is our job to hold on to the happiness. Happiness is a mindset. It is not a place. It is not a thing. It is an active state of being.

During the service, Rabbi Tobias revealed the first three of seven steps to happiness—he reserved the next four for his after-shul class in hopes that people would stay later. Unfortunately, it appears that food makes people happier than the other four secrets to happiness. Anywho, the first three:

1. Happiness is a mindset. See above.
2. Learn to accept criticism. You will never become a better person if all you can do is accept praise. We must learn to accept and internalize criticism to become better people. Better versions of ourselves.
3. Be patient. Slow down. Don’t be that jerk that honks the horn at the car in front of you when the light has not yet turned green, just because you saw the light of the perpendicular traffic turn red. But more importantly, absorb life. Do not rush through it. Even the seemingly miserable parts have something to teach us.

Number two really hit home for me. I am terrible at accepting criticism. I admitted this out loud to myself for the first time on October 1. I think I’m good at it, but I’m not. I like being liked. I like being told that my work is good/valuable. I like being told I have a nice singing voice or my boots are “so cool, where did you get them?” 

For the record, I also work hard. I worked my butt off in school from the age of 5 through my college graduation. And I firmly believe that hard work does deserve praise—be it my own work or someone else’s. I am a people-pleaser by birth, and I labor to meet expectations. It’s hard when I fall short. 

I silently took note from my seat in the balcony to be better at this.

Well, I think G-d wanted to know if I was serious about that because not one week went by and my friend delivered some heavy criticism. 

We were in a cab together from the Lower East Side to the Upper West Side. Clearly, we had some time to kill. The topic of my blog (yes, this one you are reading) came up.

“So...what’s the goal of your blog, really?” he asked.

I went on to describe how my blog was born, that its intentions are loose, but basically: I want to answer questions for 20-somethings like myself that I encounter or struggle with, whether that question is “where should I go out to eat” or “what cool random thing is there to do in New York” or “why is being 20-something SO HARD?”

“Ok. Ok. I get it. But listen...I read it sometimes. And it’s like “oh I did this thing today” or whatever but....I want it to be better. I just...I think you can do better. I mean, are you really sitting down and taking the time or are you just like slapping it together?”

At first, I was taken aback. It was definitely jolting to be told hey I’m reading your stuff and it’s just not that good. In fact, it sounds lazy and slapdash. But instead of dismissing him or running out of the cab to go cry myself to sleep, I asked him “in what way?”

I really tried to listen hard to what he was saying. What was it that wasn’t speaking to him? How many others have tuned out? Have I been lazy?

And this is part of the reason for my hiatus. 

My #1 priority when I began this blog was to write and put out a solid post once a week. As the weeks continued on this goal evolved into just putting out a post once a week. 

But after hearing his criticism and accepting it, I believe I am better—and, slowly, my blog will be better—for having truly heard his feedback.

Being told you’re not good enough (or your work isn’t its best) is tough to take. But the alternative, not being told despite this being an issue, is worse.

Think about a time when you received criticism (aka definitively negative feedback). What was it? How did you handle it? Tell your story in the comments. 

After all, only by making yourself better will you earn your seat in the happiness box.