One of the great pleasures of my life is when I discover an author when I think, “I want to read all of their books.” Given how much I love to read, I’m a true completist on fairly few authors—Samuel Johnson, Iris Murdoch, Virginia Woolf, Karl Ove Knausgaard, Elizabeth Enright, and George Orwell (for essays) are a few who spring to mind. I just started reading Elizabeth Jane Howard’s absolutely absorbing five-volume Cazalet Chronicle, and I plan to keep going when I’ve finished those novels.
Onward,
5 Things Making Me Happy
On my daily visits to the Metropolitan Museum, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the spectacular Raphael: Sublime Poetry exhibit. I was very intrigued to learn that Medieval and Renaissance painters would make a drawing, and in order to transfer it onto another surface, they’d prick holes in it and dust it with charcoal. That way, they could speed up their work, mass produce a design, and ensure consistency of popular works. It also allowed them to create mirror images for symmetrical motifs. For some reason, I was surprised by this—I guess this shortcut seems so efficient and semi-mechanical when I’m thinking, “This work is the inspiration of a genius.”
Speaking of the Met, I loved this brief video where I could hear the actual sounds produced by musical instruments used in ancient times. I see examples of these instruments, or images of them, throughout the Met, but I had no idea what sounds they produced.
One item on my “25 for ’25” list was to “Learn and experiment with AI,” and I listen to podcasts where AI subjects are discussed—Hard Fork and Stratechery are two of my favorites. On a recent episode of another favorite podcast, Solutions with Henry Blodget, I was fascinated by the arguments by a consciousness expert on why AI will never be conscious. Hint: I was reminded throughout the discussion of what I learned writing my book Life in Five Senses.
Word watch: champ or chomp? When someone said, “I was chomping at the bit—no, sorry, I was champing at the bit,” I realized that I myself was hazy on the difference. “Champing” refers to quiet, restless chewing (I think of the way my husband Jamie constantly champs on plastic stirrers), while “chomping” refers to actually biting or eating something, in a noisy, vigorous way. It turns out that so many people make this mistake that “chomping at the bit” has become a standard variant of the idiom in American English. Whether you’re chomping or champing at the bit, it means you’re eager or impatient to do something.
I’ve always enjoyed the distinctiveness of having red hair. I was surprised to learn that scientists have figured out that apparently, genes linked to red hair/fair skin has been actively selected for more than 10,000 years. They aren’t sure why: either it rides along with a more important trait, or it may provide survival benefits (possibly related to vitamin D absorption). As humans, we’re still actively evolving.
This week on Happier with Gretchen Rubin
PODCAST EPISODE: 586
We talk about why you should treat yourself like a grandchild (or a toddler, puppy, professor, or factory), and we share a helpful tip if you’re trying to do certain things every day. Plus we discuss a listener’s question about meeting inner and outer expectations as an Upholder.
INTERVIEW
Danielle Crittenden
Danielle Crittenden is a journalist, author, and former host of the podcast The Femsplainers, known for her incisive and original commentary on women, family, and modern life. Her book Dispatches from Grief, about the sudden loss of her adult daughter, is available now.
Q: Can you suggest something we might try to help ourselves to become happier, healthier, more productive, or more creative?
The topic of my book, Dispatches From Grief: A Mother’s Journey Through the Unthinkable, focuses graphically on my struggle to rebuild my life after the sudden loss of my eldest daughter, Miranda, at the age of 32.
Before she died, I was a happy, contented person looking forward to spending my “empty nest years” with my husband David. The evening before Miranda died, we went out for dinner and talked about some plans for the coming year, including travel, now that our three children were grown up and settled. We refer to that evening now as, “Our last happy night.”
The next day we received the phone call that Miranda had been found dead in her Brooklyn apartment. At that moment, our lives blew apart in ways we could never have foreseen. I went from being that happy, contented person to a howling ball of pain, curled up on the floor. This lasted for months. I was incapable of doing anything. I stopped writing, reading, listening to music — everything. I saw Miranda in every corner of our house, in every place we’d ever been together. My grief for her blanketed me like a sheet.
Gradually, and with the critical help of EMDR therapy (for PTSD), I’ve been able to manage my grief. I’m learning to be more present in the moment, taking what joy I can from snatches of beauty, the company of friends, a trip to a new place that isn’t haunted by memories.
This type of heavy grief, I’ve come to realize, is something you learn to carry, not “get over.” I’ll never experience unmitigated joy as I once did. But every day, I try to appreciate the gift of life I’ve been given — and the gift that was Miranda’s life. Sometimes people say, “Grief is the price of love,” but I think it is the measure of love. And a mother’s love is like no other.
Q: Do you have a Secret of Adulthood? A lesson you’ve learned from life the hard way; something you’d tell your younger self?
My answer would be the same now as it was before my daughter died. Seek love early. Don’t put off marriage or having children. In the end, your family is the only thing that matters.
Young people worry too much about the constraints of commitment and having children. They can’t see over the horizon: marriage and parenthood are roles that enlarge you in ways you can’t even imagine. The sooner you take on these roles the better, when you have the energy and flexibility of youth.
Some people have asked me, well, was it worth it? Was it worth going through the agony of Miranda’s loss? And my answer is always yes. I would not trade anything for the years I was able to spend with her. As a first child, she taught me how to be a mother as much as I taught her how to become an adult. Miranda grew up to be a sparkling, witty, and generous young woman. She made friends all over the world. She introduced me to so many new things: music, culture, restaurants, art, cities — even whole countries.
Miranda was the best companion, and as an adult became my best friend. My two living children were also close to, and revered, her. While we are left reeling without her, none of us would have chosen life without her. We would not be the same people we are today.
Q: What simple habit boosts your happiness or energy?
There are a few. In grief, it’s very important to take physical care of yourself (because the impulse is to let yourself go to hell). I work out. I walk our dogs daily in a nearby ravine and inhale nature. My husband and I enjoy a glass of wine in the evenings on our back porch, taking pleasure in the garden I’ve built over three decades. I love to pick and arrange flowers. I try new recipes (Miranda and I loved to exchange these). Basically, the simple habit of taking pleasure in small, ordinary acts of daily life.
Q: Is there a particular motto that you’ve found very helpful?
I have a picture of Miranda on my dressing table, taken when she was 16 and spending the summer in Paris. As I wrote in my book:
“She is laughing as hard as it was possible to laugh. Her head tilted back, mouth perfectly round. Pure, heedless joy — the whole-world-is-before-me joy. It wrenches my heart every time I look at it. But it’s also a reminder from Miranda herself: Keep seeking joy.”
Q: Has a book ever changed your life?
So many books have changed my life. I’m a big reader. But as it relates to grief, CS Lewis’ short classic, A Grief Observed, inspired me to write this book. Lewis documented what he felt and endured in the months following the death of his wife from breast cancer.
Unlike other books about grief, Lewis did not try to sugarcoat his pain or discount how his life had been upended in every way. He did not offer advice. Unlike popular belief, there are no tidy “stages” of grief to get through until your life returns to “normal.” Grief is a shape-shifter. It stays with you and surprises you every hour of every day.
In Lewis’ book, I found a companion to my own suffering. I hope Dispatches will offer similar companionship to my fellow grievers — and help those who know us better understand what a we are going through. So many parents grieve in loneliness. The world moves on while they don’t. Sometimes they are made to feel like they are “failing” at grief because they don’t seem to be getting “better.” I showed an early draft of my book to a mother who lost her son. She said, “Thank you. Now I have something to show people.” That was very gratifying.
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