“Could you move your elbow?”

“No, there’s no place for me to put it.”

“You’re on my side.”

“No, I’m not. I’m right on the edge of the bed. Look—you’re taking up more than your half!”

“No, I’m not—I’m hanging off my side…”

And on it goes as my husband and I bicker about space while we read in bed before we go to sleep. He’s bigger than I am, but does that mean I should give up my comfort so he can have more room? And in turn, why do I insist on a strict 50-50 division, even though we are not equal in size?

It occurs to me this little argument is a sort of parallel for marriage, or any close relationship for that matter: Each person struggling for territory of his or her own while trying to stay together in a finite space.

Is there a solution? Yes, and it’s simple:

Buy a bigger bed.

Or, create a relationship that gives both parties more room. Look for the win-win.

Too often we get caught up in our own points of view, in believing we’re right and our partner is wrong, when really, we’re both right. Working this out takes awareness and flexibility. We need to be aware of our true needs, our partner’s needs and what the situation calls for. One person shouldn’t have to make all the sacrifices, and both should feel free to make their needs known. We shouldn’t always cling to our “rights” OR always be the one who bends and accommodates. We lose flexibility when we establish arbitrary rules. This means we must also feel that we’re worthy of our space, needs and wants and that they matter as much as our partner’s. As much as, not more than.

Of course, balance in relationships is a constantly moving target. That’s one of the great things about a relationship—being aware of the other person’s needs and supporting him, and having your own needs supported in turn. Learning how to perform this balancing act is a challenge, but one worth mastering if we want to live happily with another. After 26 years of marriage, I’m still working on it.

How do you create win-win situations in your life?

Mary Florence Elinor Rainbow (!) was born Sept. 17, 1916 in the town of Sunderland, England. She attended Durham University and received a First Class Honours B.A. in English. In 1941, she accepted a post at Durham where she lectured on English Language and Literature. It was here she later met the man who would become her husband, Frederick Henry Stewart (later Sir Frederick). They married in 1945, and eventually moved to Edinburgh, Scotland in 1956, where he became the chairman of the geology department at Edinburgh University.

According to her obituary in The Guardian, Mary Stewart began writing novels “in the mid-1950s [because of] an ectopic pregnancy and consequent operation which meant she could not have children.” Her first book, Madam, Will You Talk?, was published in 1954. She was most popular in the late 60s, 70s and 80s, and one of her books, The Moon-Spinners, was made into a Disney movie (the movie is quite different from the book).

In addition to her novels, she also wrote several children’s books and one book of poetry.  My favorites have always been her “superior romantic thrillers,” especially This Rough Magic, My Brother Michael, and The Moon-Spinners, but she is also well-known for her Merlin/Arthur books, The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills and The Last Enchantment. I’ve never read any of these, because I’ve never been much interested in the King Arthur legend, but I think I’ll pick up at least The Crystal Cave to see what these are like. (She later wrote two more books in the series, The Wicked Day and The Prince and the Pilgrim.)

I love her books for the writing itself, but also because of her heroines. They’re ordinary young women, often traveling alone in places I’d love to visit, who prove themselves when they’re thrown into adventure. They leave their comfort zones, and through their courage and fortitude solve the mystery and win the heart of the hero. The stories are just plain fun.

One of the biggest thrills of my life was visiting Delphi in Greece, with my copy of My Brother Michael as company. I even saw the statue of the Charioteer mentioned in the book in the museum there. Here he is:

For years, Iceland has been high on the list of countries I’d like to visit. I want to soak in the Blue Lagoon  meet an Icelandic horse, and I’d love to explore a place that is consistently ranked as one of the happiest countries in the world. Despite a devastating financial crash in 2008, erupting volcanoes, and dark winters, Iceland currently ranks 9^th in the World Happiness Report (the U.S. ranks 17^th). There are certainly many factors involved, but one has got to be an emphasis on the factors that strengthen mental health.

More than 10 years ago, Reykjavik psychologist Dora Gudrun Gudmundsdottir knew that Iceland was consistently ranked as one of the world’s happiest nations, but she could find no studies on happiness in her country. She was curious about what factors predicted happiness. She found that the best predictor for happiness was not money, as many people believed, but social relationships (living with and/or spending time with a partner, friends or family). A second important predictor was health, especially mental health. This prompted her and her colleagues at the Public Health Institute to launch a public campaign to encourage better mental health and greater happiness among Iceland’s citizens. After studying research literature for common strategies and characteristics of people generally considered happy and successful, the result was the “Ten Commandments of Mental Health,” phrases that remind people what they can do every day to strengthen their mental health, and thus increase their happiness. The Public Health Institute of Iceland sponsored lectures and a media campaign, and sent a refrigerator magnet displaying “The Ten Commandments of Mental Health” to every household in the country. (Magnets were available in English for foreigners who couldn’t read Icelandic). Curious about the ten? Here they are:

So much that contributes to happiness is within our own power—we just need the occasional reminder. (And if I ever get to Iceland, I’d love to snag one of those magnets!)

My grandmother Moser made wonderful cherry pies from fruit from a tree just across the road from her house, and I have loved fruit trees ever since. A cherry tree is all about giving. Here’s a poem by Nathaniel Perry, who lives in Virginia, giving us an orchard made of words. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

It was a good idea, cutting away

the vines and ivy, trimming back

the chest-high thicket lazy years

had let grow here. Though it wasn’t for lack

of love for the trees, I’d like to point out.

Years love trees in a way we can’t

imagine. They just don’t use the fruit

like us; they want instead the slant

of sun through narrow branches, the buckshot

of rain on these old cherries. And we,

now that I think on it, want those

things too, we just always and desperately

want the sugar of the fruit, the best

we’ll get from this irascible land:

sweetness we can gather for years,

new stains staining the stains on our hands.