Kindness = Happy Place

A book about how kindness affects happiness.

 In my mind, I see the wilderness; green, fresh, and alive.  I see the water, a small lake, in fact.  The sunlight reflects off the lightly-rippling waves; it looks like sparkles and glitter.  There is no evil or anxiety, just wind rifting through the leaves and the occasional chirp of a song bird.  There are no preconceived notions of who you are, or what you’re supposed to be.  No grudges, no bullies, no negativity; only a heightening sense freedom. 

I am standing on the edge of a crystal-clear lake.  I observe each wave on the surface advance on to the coarse pebbles, then retreat back.  I can smell nothing of odor, only new oxygen being released by the plant life around me.  The place I am in lies hundreds of miles away from any civilization.  I built a small cabin made of inch-thick glass and dark-knotty wood near the water’s edge.  I am with my best friend, and no one else.  We don’t speak much, for we don’t have to.  There is no need for gossip or talking or judgment.  It’s just us.  The rest of the world dissipates and becomes obsolete while we are here.  Happiness revolves around this place, and this place revolves around kindness.

A golden eagle flies overhead.  I can see it as it catches different wind currents.  It is also free.  I spot a doe putts down to the lake with her fawns.  She doesn’t need to look over her shoulder or be in fear.  Everyone reflects kindness in this place.  The four-legged creature’s lap up the cool refreshment, rolling their tongues to cup the water into their throats.  They stroll back into the forest, disappearing in the thick foliage.  The sun rises in the east now.  Long shadows are created by the trees and the top of my cabin.  I walk back up to my cabin with my friend, again, saying nothing.  I open the spring-assisted screen door for my friend; then she holds it as I walk through.  Kindness is the only thing need to be happy here.  The floor was built of a beautiful mahogany wood with a glossy finish.  We wipe our shoes off on the bristle-covered floor mat, then slip them off.  I walk through the entry way�"with a trim that matches the floor.  I am in the living room now; white carpet, and black leather furniture.  Mounts of deer antlers and trophy-sized fish are scattered along the walls.  The sunlight reflects off the water and beams through the gigantic windows facing the lake.  It lights up the room.  I can see the tiny dust particles suspended in mid air as the light passes through them.  A spiral staircase leads up to a loft.  The stairs to the basement form an L-shaped walkway down to the tiled floor.  The cabin itself stands impressively tall with sky lights covering the ceiling.  The entire wall and windows facing the lake are unrestrained; there is nothing blacking the view.  A massive light fixture hangs from the center of the ceiling, where each angled section of the roof meets in the middle.  Accent lights line the underside of all the cupboards and table tops.  The amount of space is impressive, but I’ve never felt so at home and cozy.  The fire place in the corner has a pile of cedarwood, cut and stacked neatly, next to it.  A few charred embers still smolder from the night before.  A wood-wick candle burns in the center of the island, crackling and popping almost constantly.  I sprawl myself onto the floor next to the gigantic windows.  Crossing my arms and laying my head on them; I face the lake and watch the water churn.

I awake and rub the fuzziness out of my eyes.   My best friend walks over to the machine-finished fridge, opens it, and grips onto the orange juice with one hand.  The moment she pulls it out, water droplets condensate on the laminate side of the jug from the warm air.  I grab glasses for us both from the cupboard by the sink.  When I set the glasses on the marble island in the middle of the kitchen, they make a clink sound.  My friend unscrews the cap with such speed that it drops onto the floor.  I grip the jug by the handle and pour the orange juice into the glass.  It makes a satisfying slosh as the liquid level rises in each cup.  An aroma of citrus wafts up, and I catch a smell of the sugary drink.  We gulp down the orange juice and put our glasses in the open dishwasher.  We have responsibilities and we do our part.  Not because we have to, but because we are kind.

A loon on the lake sounds its mating cry, then plunges under the water.  It punches through the surface moments later, far away from where it first dove under.  The beauty of the black and white bird makes us smile.  We have appreciated the indirect happiness the loon brings to us.

The sun is lowering in the west now.  We watch it from living room.  Its rays color the clouds and the sky with vibrant reds, oranges and pinks.  If I look close enough, using the tree-line as my reference point, I can see the sun heading downward.  Eventually, it disappears.  I notice that the sun did not resist going down.  It was kind to the night sky�"giving it a turn to rule the skies.  Then, I realize that everything in the place I am imagining is kind.  All relationships are mutual.  I like that.

It is night time now.  The stars light up the cloudless, dark sky.  I spot the drinking gourd, Gemini, Leo, Orion, and Taurus.  Their shapes and figures give meaning amongst the chaos in the plain on which they sit.  I begin laughing.  Not because something is funny, but because nothing is bad.  In fact, life here is so good that everything around me seems to radiate purified positive energy.

 My friend peels some birch bark off an old birch tree log next to the fireplace.  She hands it to me, and I center it in the middle of the ashes of a once great fire.  I then place pre-cut kindling over the curled-up bark, followed by larger layers of wood on top.  She goes to the middle drawer of the marble island and tosses me a dark red lighter.  My thumb finds its way to the gas control and my pointer finger to the striker.  I engage both mechanisms and a two-inch flame shoots out of the end of the lighter.  As the flame grasps the birch bark, the kindling crackles like someone stepping on Rice Crispies.  A miniature cloud of black smoke rolls upward.  I can feel the vibrant energy growing.  I get a tingly feeling as goosebumps form on my skin from the sudden change in temperature.   I flip the third switch to the left next to the door.  The large fan mounted onto the ceiling begins to rotate clockwise.  It circulates the warm air from the fireplace in the corner of the room.  I crank open the windows facing the lake and remove the screens.  You can smell the fresh seaweed coming from the waters.  The warm and cool air collide.  I drape a blanket over my best friend.  I walk over to the light switch panel and flick each lever to the “off” position, except for the third switch from the left (the fan switch).  I curl up onto a couch with the softest blanket I’ve ever felt, and my eyes close slowly.  I thank anything and everything I can think of because I realize the greatness of this gift.  Finally, my thoughts go black.

I awake to my teacher shaking my shoulder, telling me to wake up and pay attention.  My classmates are laughing at me.  I ignore them.  The bell rings and everyone flies out of their desks in a chaotic manner.  No one holds the door for the next person.  No one helps the student who spilled his pencil case on the floor.  No one smiles and thanks the teacher for working so hard to educate them.  No one truly cares about the person next to them.  No one takes the time to appreciate what they have.  No one realizes that they are so incredibly lucky to be alive, to have four limbs, to have food and water, to have shelter, to have family, to have someone special, to have heat in the winter, to have air conditioning in the summer, to be able to feel safe, to be able to be happy, and to have a dream that you can strive for at any time.  But no one seems to care.  All they care about is how many likes they got on their Instagram post or how many views their Snapchat story received.  They care for what people are on the outside�"what brand of clothes they wear, and how we appear.  They look for ways to tear others down, so they can bring themselves up�"even their closest friends.   I believe most people are in this world for themselves. 

I walk out of the classroom.  I get to the commons. To my left, I hear degrading comments about a girl.  A head of me I see a group of the “pretty girls”.  They are talking about the latest and greatest drama.  I pass a group of upper-classmen and they find a way to make fun of me.  I just keep walking�"acting as though what they said glanced off me.  I hurry past my group of old friends.  I left them because they all are inconsiderate of others and they make bad decisions.  They chirp me on, but I keep walking.  I make it to my study hall and take my seat at the back-lab table.  In my head, I question why everyone can’t be kind to everyone else.  If that were the case, there would be no cruelty, and much less hurt in the world.  Again, everyone is in this life for themselves.  With that final thought, I close my eyes, and go to a place where everything revolves around kindness… my happy place.  In my mind, I see wilderness; green, fresh, and alive.