Until I hit the ripe, somewhat older age of…never mind the exact number, I seldom looked becoming in photos. In fact, “dreadful” summed up my physical appearance. I avoided photos for that reason. They were too revealing. A crooked upper lip, squinty eyes, or a lackluster expression would display inner frustrations and annoyances. My photos seemed to scream, “I’m not happy, but I’m not sure why.”

Then I started writing…seriously. I’ve always written something…essays, articles, interviews, letters, notes to self. But one burst of writing lingered and grew into a torrent of words. It was my first encounter with honest-to-goodness, story writing; the “I will not go quietly” type. The words ended up as my first published novel, which culminated a lifelong dream. The dream of accomplishing a feat that made me happy.

My facial expression started to shift to something more tolerable, and my aversion to being photographed diminished. I noticed that strangers who looked my way would smile. I wondered why…until I realized that I’d been smiling too. It became so that during bouts of frustration, I’d plaster on a smile, and soon, I’d feel a jigger of contentment that led to more of the same. All because I’d spent time toiling over (it wasn’t really toiling; it was more like creating or fashioning) something I loved. And the smile became a natural occurrence. This reminds me of a little story:

There once lived a king who was ill-mannered, bad tempered, and disliked by his subjects. This made the king lonely and bitter. He went to his wise counselor to ask how to change things. The counselor created a mask for the king to wear that looked exactly like the king’s face…wearing a smile. He told the king he needed to act pleasantly as well. The next time the king walked among his subjects, he was surprised that he was kindly greeted by all. After a time, the king became ashamed at the way he was deceiving his subjects and removed the mask. He walked among his people, saddened that their warm encounters had come to an end. But they didn’t end. The subjects continued to treat the king warmly; the same way as when he wore the mask. The king went to the sage who held a mirror to the king’s face. To his amazement, his eyes were bright and his expression radiant. The smile was still there. The sage told him this happy, smiling king is who he really is.

Inside all of us are the seeds of contentment. It’s vital that we find and stay on that path to happiness. And if we find that a challenge, “fake it ’til we make it.” Happiness depends to some extent upon external conditions, but chiefly upon mental attitudes. Fortunately, our attitudes are under our control…which makes happiness a choice.

I love being a writer. I love when words pop into my head, words I’ve not heard in years or can’t recall ever hearing at all, and fall into just the right places when I’m in the midst of writing. I love hearing the voices of my characters swirl and somersault in my head, speaking as though they’re in the room with me, conversing over my shoulder, loud and clear. I love when my novel is checked out at the public library (I still can’t believe that people I don’t know are reading it, let alone believe I even have a published novel out in the diverse and wonderful book world for people to read at all). I love appearing at writers’ conferences, on author panels, podcasts, and book stores to talk books and writing, and to meet people like myself – book lovers who are happiest when reading and/or writing. Did you know that book store owners and their wonderful staff, and librarians as well, are an incredibly generous and happy group of people? I’ve had a long standing love affair with the public library, and now that I’ve met and gotten to know many of those who create the steam that runs the library engines, all I can say is wow! Librarians serve in a noble, imagination-steering, life-saving profession (at least as far as the mental welfare of this patron is concerned – my local library was my haven). I’ve yet to meet a librarian I didn’t respect and like, and the same goes for book store owners who are not selling to earn $$$$, but are in the business primarily for the love of books.

The writing world is the one where I feel my breath, my mind, my very soul soar. Recently, I was one of four, first-time author panelists at the Santa Barbara Writers’ Conference. I sat on the stage and looked out at the audience of 150 or so, and my heart nearly burst with gratitude. When a question by an audience member was directed at me, I nearly erupted in happy tears. Fortunately, I have honed my self control skills, so my secret internal outbursts are known to no one but me, and now you, my dear reader.

To take a little time, no matter what our jobs or daily duties, to spend on activities we love, on our passions, and on what truly gives us a sense of contentment, is what we should strive to accomplish. The love we pour into what we enjoy doing, can’t help but stream out into all areas of our own lives, as well as into the lives of those with whom we have contact. A simple way to spread happiness.

I once engaged in a heated exchange with myself about an annoying person with whom I’d had excess contact. A man suddenly appeared a few feet away from me, raptly listening to my solo conversation. In my defense, I was out walking in dense fog (the kind where, if I dropped my cell phone, I’d have to get down on all fours and feel around for it).

At first, I was mortified. Had the eavesdropper heard the part where I wanted to tie one end of a rope to a chair to which the irritant was handcuffed, and tie the other end to the bumper of a four-wheel drive truck that I would then drive over jagged edged boulders at high speeds? I was subjected to some heavy squinting and blinking by the man as he vainly searched for the party with whom I was having said conversation. Rather than defend my jabbering, I smiled, waved, and moved on quickly, letting him jump to his own conclusions about my sanity.

After this incident, I kept my talking out loud to a minimum or at least within the confines of my car or home where such behavior is not totally unexpected. I enjoy solo talk – as a writer, it helps me remember things and work out challenges. I discovered that for some people, it helps ease loneliness and creates a sense of community.

I came across a woman in a grocery store who not only talked to herself out loud, but did it so others had to be involved as well.

“Don’t the pears look good?” “Should I buy some cereal?” “What time is it?” she yelled to no one in particular.

I heard a nearby man answer, “Uh, it’s 4:10.” Which made me wonder, “Are they together?” (to myself, not aloud).

They were not together, and she proceeded in this manner for the duration of her shopping.

“Where’s the bread?” she inquired, looking around her.

I stepped forward. “Aisle four, I think.”

Does such talk cross the line into mental unbalance? I noticed a man on a street corner, alone, on a hot day, talking up a storm of nonsense. Heat-stroke or insanity? I’d place my bet on the latter. But the woman in the market was not insane. She managed a fairly normal conversation with the cashier. She just hadn’t mastered the art of not talking to herself loudly in public places. Something I learned after being busted and possibly mistaken for a raving lunatic.

It’s not just writers, loners, and the insane that talk to themselves. Historical figures known for their genius did so as well. Albert Einstein engaged in solo talk. It helped him figure out things and rid himself of stumbling blocks. A Time magazine article stated jabbering to oneself can help retain focus and improve perception. In my case, it helped siphon off stress, reason through a difficult situation, and perhaps provide fodder for my next book. Should you feel the urge to engage in a soliloquy, go right ahead. You’ll be in good company. Oh, but do stay off street corners lest a case of mistaken identity ensue.