Ask for help when you need it and give help when you are asked

 Happiness, as the old adage goes, is an inside job.

 The “inner work” of happiness is that of thinking about how you live your life and how your thinking is foundational. We all know that  where we were born, to whom we were born, and the circumstances greatly influence who we are at the beginning of our lives but this is not the whole story. By applying oneself at school, at work, in LIFE. doors can open in any circumstance. Who you are is who you THINK you are. If you believe you are a person with potential, your potential will unfold. Many of us receive what I call “negative programming” when we are young and impressionable, but this can’t become the determining factor. Erase those old tapes and write your own program! Easier said than done, I know, but self-belief is the key. If it is writing affirmations and putting them on the fridge at home, then do it. If it is working with a life coach, try it. Perhaps an analytical approach or process mapping your life and your goals will work best.. Maybe for you, it would entail a retreat at Esalen learning yoga and deepest meditation.

 Or it could be simple, doable steps like getting up earlier in the day and trying one new thing a day. If, like many of us, the least expensive option is best, start a “success circle” like my friend Duncan did. Duncan is a brilliant filmmaker, writer, and musician but grew up in impoverished and unfortunate circumstances with a panicky single mother who wanted to dictate Duncan’s life every step of the way She even went so far as to have him institutionalized when he defied her. It would have been easy for him to either stay in the struggle or, at the very least, become a bitter and negative person. Instead, he chose to go to film school as quickly as possible and move to LA to make movies. Breaking into the “business” in LA is not easy when you have no connections so Duncan established himself- rented an apartment and worked  a day job while he sought his break. Then Duncan had a great idea, to create a “success circle,” and invited some friends to his home to talk about what each person wanted in life and dreamed of doing. They discussed what would bring them happiness and right livelihood. hopes and aspirations. By the end of the first circle, they has all come up with goals and created outlines and ways to attain these dreams. They made it up as they went along but the success circle was a great success, each member going on to great things.

 As for Duncan, he has made two films, found true love, and great happiness.

What kind of happiness are you seeking? Maybe you don’t know yet – or thought you did but now you are not so sure. Maybe you are on the right trick but just need a gentle nudge in a new direction. In our own lives, happiness can feel transitory and elusive. We can get overwhelmed by business and commit the cardinal “happiness eradicator” of comparing ourselves to others. Thinking about what you lack is the shortest path to misery that I know of. Instead do a “reframe” and think about what you HAVE, gifts, talents, positive people in your life, a great garden, all the great good things in your life.

Better already, right?

A List of Love

Stop for a moment and be thankful for the giver behind the gift. Make a list of the people in your life who made you happy today.

Your Gratitude Hit List

Create a top ten list of the things you are most grateful for in your life. Carry it with you in your purse or pocket, or post it on your mirror, your refrigerator, or at your office to remind you daily of what you are grateful for.

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.

Domo Arigato

A globetrotting friend of mine told me that the first thing she would do before setting foot in another country was learn how to say, “Thank you,” in the native tongue. “You’d be surprised at the delight others take in hearing a foreigner’s tongue speak their own language,” she said. “They were sometimes surprised, other times impressed, and sometimes they would have no idea what I was saying! But they were always grateful for my attempts.”

Here’s a list of the world’s many ways to express your gratitude:

Arabic: Shukran

Czech: Děuji

Danish: Tak

Dutch: Dank u

Estonian: Tänan teid

Filipino: Salamat

Finnish: Kiitos

French: Merci

Gaelic: Go raibh maith agat

German: Danke

Hungarian: Köszönöm

Indonesian: Terima kasih

Italian: Grazie

Japanese: Arigato

Latvian: Paldies

Norwegian: Takk

Polish: Dzi kuj

Portuguese: Obrigado

Romanian: Mul umesc

Spanish: Gracias

Swahili: Asante

Swedish: Tack

Vietnamese: Cảm ơn bạn

Welsh: Diolch yn fawr

Reading Tonight of Beat Alice's Poetry!

Tonight at 7PM I will be reading the poetry of Elise Cowen, also known as Beat Alice, at the Beat Museum in San Francisco. More information about the event can be found on the Museum website. For now, I would like to talk about Elise herself.

Elise Cowen, though dead more than a quarter century, is in many ways more tangible than many of the other Beat women. She is alive in the pages of Joyce Johnson’s Minor Characters and in the memories of many of the survivors of the Beat Generation whom she marked forever with her generous friendship. Janine Pommy Vega, with whom Elise lived for a time, says, “I still think about her every day. She was the smartest person I knew.”

Elise was born to a relatively well-off family on Long Island who were given to high-strung histrionics interspersed with brittle attempts at normalcy. Her parents had achieved the American Dream with the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood and the perfect job. More than anything, they wanted the perfect daughter to complete the ensemble, and Elise became the focus of their rages.

Although Elise didn’t make good grades, she was extremely bright and read extensively. Poetry, especially the works of Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot, were particular favorites, and she could quote them at will, just at the right moments. She favored the darker poetry most of all, suggesting a shadow side to the good-friend persona she kept on display.

She attended Barnard in accordance with her family’s plans, but didn’t flourish in the ways they had hoped. Instead, she met Joyce Johnson and Leo Skir, among other Beat players, and got involved with her philosophy professor. Elise doted on the professor, who led an exciting life and had a child but no apparent wife. He also had lots of friends traipsing in and out of his messy apartment while Elise cleaned up and baby-sat for his two-year-old son.

This relationship proved the portal to Elise’s future; when his friend Allen Ginsberg arrived on the scene, Elise recognized a twin soul. (Joyce Johnson mentions how they even looked alike during that time.) They slept together for a while, but when Allen moved on, Elise was never quite able to let go. Ironically, Allen and Elise both met Carl Solomon (for whom Ginsberg would eventually write “Howl”) in separate stays at mental hospitals, which Elise took as a sign that they should be together. Allen went to a psychiatric ward instead of jail after the infamous wreck in the stolen car with Herbert Huncke, Vickie Russell, and Little Jack Melody. Elise was in Bellevue Hospital during one of her episodes of depression. When Allen became lovers with Peter Orlovsky, Elise took a woman lover named Sheila and, at one point, the two couples even shared an apartment.

After her graduation from Barnard, Elise became depressed more often and was never completely free of the shadows. She took a job as a typist and had a dismal career, typing at night, drinking red wine, and writing poetry in secret. After being fired from her job, she ran away to San Francisco, disappearing from view. The Elise that returned to New York a year later was changed: thinner and quieter, she seemed even more haunted than before.

Elise was admitted to Bellevue for infectious hepatitis. Her parents had her transferred to a psychiatric facility in Queens and signed her out against doctor’s orders after a few months even though Elise was suffering auditory hallucinations and paranoia. Their plan was to take Elise with them on a Florida vacation, but Elise never made the trip. On February 16, 1962, she jumped out of the window of her parent’s living room in Washington Heights. She died instantly. The police noted that the window was still locked—Elise had jumped through a closed window.

None of her poetry was published in her lifetime, but eighty-three poems have rested in a box in her friend Leo Skir’s apartment in Minneapolis; her remaining poems and journals were destroyed by her family after her death. Over the years, Leo, a still-loyal friend, has sent some of Elise’s poems to The Ladder and several small literary magazines.

Sitting

Sitting with you in the kitchen

Talking of anything

Drinking tea

I love you

“The” is a beautiful, regal, perfect word

Oh I wish you body here

With or without bearded poems

This is believed to be the last poem that Elise Cowen ever wrote:

No love

No compassion

No intelligence

No beauty

No humility

Twenty-seven years is enough

Mother—too late—years of meanness—I’m sorry

Daddy—What happened?

Allen—I’m sorry

Peter—Holy Rose Youth

Betty—Such womanly bravery

Keith—Thank you

Joyce—So girl beautiful

Howard—Baby take care

Leo—Open the window and Shalom

Carol—Let it happen

Let me out now please—

—Please let me in

Acts of Beauty

When I was working on the Random Acts of Kindness campaign, it was an incredibly joy-filled work experience. I usually do love what I do but this took it to a whole new level. My work was not just about helping my company or paying my rent for the month, it suddenly really meaning something. We were making the world a better place, one act of kindness at a time. There was literally an electricity in the air and we arrived at work each day to see what miracles had happened overnight while we were sleeping.

I remember the first day we knew everything had really changed - we found out through the US mail. Usually we only had a dozen or so pieces of mail, bills mostly and a few queries, letters from readers or an order or two. One day, the mailman knocked and said, "I need help here." He had BAGS of letters from people all over the country and a TON of ones with suggestions of acts of kindness. There were laughter and tears as we sat down on the floor and tore open the envelopes reading aloud from the letters. Some were in children's big blocky letters (these usually had the best ideas of kindness) and others in elder's careful script. I treasure that memory as I saw the power of the human heart that day.