My husband and I celebrated the day by exchanging cards and small gifts, then going to see Les Miserables, a movie we’ve looked forward to since we first saw the trailer months ago. Does that sound unromantic? I admit it’s not a trip to a bed-and-breakfast complete with champagne and chocolates, but we’ve done our fair share of that. After 25 years, we’ve learned that romance is wonderful but it’s not the only thing that keeps a marriage strong. Being honest about needs and wants, putting in the time and effort to keep a home running and income flowing, working together as well as playing together—these things, unromantic as they are, hold a marriage together over the course of a lifetime.  Romance is only the beginning. Marriage is acting loving when you’re not feeling that way, forgiving when you don’t think you can, and finding someone who is willing to do the same for you. Just like happiness is not just about “happy” events.

According to Chase’s Calendar of Events, National Nothing Day was created “to provide Americans with one National day when they can just sit without celebrating, observing or honoring anything.”

This day is just for you—so relax and enjoy it. (To learn more about National Nothing Day, if it’s not too much trouble, click here.) What won’t you do to celebrate?

 “Doing nothing is better than being busy doing nothing.”

—Lao Tzu

One of the best things about having a blog that focuses on happiness is “having” to read various happiness-themed books. I recently stumbled upon a cool one: The World Book of Happiness, edited by Leo Bormans. Bormans asked 100 experts in the field of positive psychology to sum up their work in 1,000 words or less, using terms the average person would understand. These insights were to be research based, not “spiritual philosophy.” Here are a few tidbits to whet your interest:

Once basic needs are met, more money does not equal more happiness. This is called the Happiness Paradox. (Stavros Drakopoulos)

While happiness can be pursued, we shouldn’t use the laws for outer achievement (“brute force and adrenaline-charged action”) in that pursuit. Instead, we should become “happiness detectives,” by observing our feelings, nurturing good times and always looking for new ways to increase happiness in ourselves and others. (Michael Hagerty)

In order to flourish, we should allow ourselves to feel (smile, laugh, cry when we need to), see, listen, taste and smell—participate in all the joys of life. Appreciate who and what we are, and anticipate and open ourselves to support from others. Ask for support if necessary, and provide it to those who need it. We are resilient, able to bounce back when faced with negatives, becoming stronger in the process. (D.J.W. Strumpfer)

Three universal components of happiness: Enjoyment—“possessing certain things that give one (passive) pleasure; contentedness—“the equilibrium between needs and satisfaction”; achievement—“the fulfillment of one’s capacities…doing what one enjoys.” (Doh Chull Shin)

We don’t need to feel obligated to be happy and shouldn’t think of happiness as a right. Sadness is a normal and healthy emotion, and is sometimes necessary and worthwhile. If we want to feel happy again, stop doing things that make us miserable, stop thinking about our own happiness and reach out to help someone else. (Grant Duncan)

Happiness is like a muscle—there are many things we can do to “train” it. Focus on happiness (instead of unhappiness) and it grows. The pursuit of happiness involves mind, body and spirit, and there are things we can do to nurture each of these aspects of ourselves which will help us develop greater happiness. (Miriam Akhtar)

I expect to be dipping in and out of this book for a while, and I’ll be sure to share with you any new or profound discoveries.

Between sickness (nearly recovered from) and jury duty (completed), I’ve been a bit delayed in my customary reflection on the past year and planning for a new year. Even so, in the past couple of weeks, an odd little theme has appeared in my thinking: “It’s all too much.”

A few years ago, I read a book by organizer Peter Walsh called It’s All Too Much and ever since then, that phrase pops into my head whenever I’m overwhelmed. As you know, that’s just what I’ve been feeling lately.  Instead of choosing a word of the year or setting out to remake my life, I’m just…not. At least, not right now. I’m not setting new goals or embarking on bold new adventures. I’m simplifying and downsizing.

I just have too much—books, food, possessions of all kinds, hobbies, interests and the wonderful blessing of friends and family relationships. I really am grateful for all that I have—I’m not complaining! I have, however, allowed my life to get out of hand. I have too much, and I try to do too much. Nearly every day I find myself putting aside activities that would feed my soul or work that really means something because I’m drowning in the sheer mass of life, much of it menial and unimportant.

So 2013 begins with a purge—of the physical (How many empty boxes does one need? Does this old radio even work?) as well as the non-physical. Activities I take for granted will be scrutinized—do they really need doing? By me? At this particular time or to that standard?

I don’t consider having too much a “real” problem. I’m not suffering heartbreak over it. I realize I’m lucky to be in this position when so many people around the world face true need. But getting rid of excess will help me appreciate what remains while cutting down on waste, guilt and chaos. Spending less time and money on what doesn’t matter will free up more for what does. I look forward to seeing what fills my life when the excess is gone.

Among the most ancient uses for language are descriptions of places, when a person has experienced something he or she wants to tell somebody else about. Some of these get condensed and transformed into poetry, and here’s a good example, by Susan Kolodny, a poet from the Bay Area of California. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Koi Pond, Oakland Museum

Our shadows bring them from the shadows:

a yolk-yellow one with a navy pattern

like a Japanese woodblock print of fish scales.

A fat 18-karat one splashed with gaudy purple

and a patch of gray. One with a gold head,

a body skim-milk-white, trailing ventral fins

like half-folded fans of lace.

A poppy-red, faintly disheveled one,

and one, compact, all indigo in faint green water.

They wear comical whiskers and gather beneath us

as we lean on the cement railing

in indecisive late-December light,

and because we do not feed them, they pass,

then they loop and circle back. Loop and circle. Loop.

“Look,” you say, “beneath them.” Beneath them,

like a subplot or a motive, is a school

of uniformly dark ones, smaller, unadorned,

perhaps another species, living in the shadow

of the gold, purple, yellow, indigo, and white,

seeking the mired roots and dusky grasses,

unliveried, the quieter beneath the quiet.