There are certain things that seem, without fail, to pull me away from myself -- an entire week without sunshine, navigating what can feel like a minefield at work, the guilt that accompanies comparison to others.
A group of us have been reading The Happiness Project at work. We meet once a month to discuss a chapter over lunch. I'm realizing that, for me, happiness comes when I feel most at home in myself -- a Sunday afternoon cooking in the kitchen, taking a barre class at the end of a long day and, last week, spending an hour in the library.
I'd spent a morning consumed by paperwork, eyes glued to a screen, feeling a nagging and unexplained sort of ennui. After three cups of tea, I found myself wandering across campus to the library during lunchtime. I wandered the stacks and picked out three books, promising myself I'd spend more lunch breaks in the easy chairs on the second floor, with books and newspapers and quiet.
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