Happy With Today

There’s a small plaque at the Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens in Florida, a memorial for a woman named Melva Byer Klayman. It says simply: “I am happy with today.”

I’ve been thinking about that inscription since reading it in Barry Brownstein’s recent reflection on Russ Harris’s The Happiness Trap as part of his Mindset Shift U subscription series. Melva contracted polio in 1944. She ran a small movie theater with her husband. She lived to 89. I don’t know much else about her life, but I keep coming back to those five words.

I am happy with today.

Not “I was happy when things went well.” Not “I’ll be happy when I achieve my goals.” Just... happy with today. Whatever today brought.

I think I’m only just beginning to understand what that means.

The Body Teaches What Words Can’t

One of the first things I learned in tai chi is how to stand. It’s called standing post, or standing meditation, and it sounds absurdly simple until you try it. You stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, arms raised as if holding a large beach ball. Then you just stand there. For a minute or two at first, then five, then ten. Masters hold the position for hours.

The instinct is to muscle through it. You tense your shoulders, lock your knees, grip with your arms. Within a minute, you’re shaking. Within two, it’s all you can think about. The discomfort becomes everything.

But that’s not the point of this exercise. The practice is about finding your frame. You relax every major muscle group until you’re left with just the skeletal structure and the minimal muscular engagement needed to hold the posture. Your bones stack. Your joints align. Gravity flows through you instead of against you.

When you find it, something strange happens. The position is still there. Your arms are still raised. But you’re not fighting anymore. You can hold it indefinitely because there’s nothing to struggle against. The deeper I go into this practice, the less I’m thinking about my body at all.

Harris uses a different exercise in The Happiness Trap. He talks about holding a book straight out, stiff-armed, for a minute. It becomes unbearable because you’re using all your energy to keep it as far from you as possible. The alternative is to sit down and place the book in your lap. It’s still there, but you’ve made room for it. Now you can do other things.

This is what it means to be at peace with your emotional state. It’s not about fighting or surrendering. It’s about finding a different stance entirely.

We’ve Eliminated the Conditions for Peace

There’s something about modern life that makes this so difficult to learn. I keep thinking about how much time pre-modern people had to think. Not scheduled thinking time. Not productivity. Just mental space while their bodies were occupied with repetitive work. Walking behind a plow. Kneading bread. Weaving. Your hands busy, your mind free to roam.

We’ve inverted that completely. Now our minds are constantly occupied while our bodies sit still. Meetings, emails, decisions, problems, notifications. No space for background processing. No room for thoughts to settle and resolve naturally.

So we ruminate during the only downtime we have, lying awake as we try to fall asleep. We feel guilty for spacing out when our brains are just trying to process. We try to force productivity during times when integration is called for. We never get the natural resolution cycle that comes from rhythmic physical work.

Then we wonder why we can’t manage our thoughts and feelings through willpower alone. We’ve designed an environment hostile to the very conditions that would allow natural processing. And then we blame ourselves for struggling.

The Difference Between Fighting and Winning

For a long time, I was angry. Frustrated at dysfunction I could see clearly but couldn’t seem to change. It felt justified. It felt like the appropriate response to what wasn’t working. And it was exhausting.

The anger wasn’t wrong, exactly. The problems were real. But the emotion was getting in my way. All my energy went into the struggle itself. Reacting to the latest crisis. Defending against the next attack. Pulling harder in an endless game of tug-of-war while the monster on the other end relentlessly pulled back.

But recently something fundamentally shifted. The anger started dissolving. Not because I managed it better or practiced more positive thinking. It dissolved when I stopped fighting and started designing.

I’m just as committed to winning as I ever was. Maybe more. But I’m not fighting anymore. I’m not reacting to every provocation, taking every bait, defending every position. I’m playing a different game entirely. One where I get to set the rules. One where everyone can win if they choose to play.

The dysfunction is still there. The chaos hasn’t magically disappeared. But I’m not in a tug-of-war with it anymore. I’m building something else. Recruiting co-designers. Creating conditions where people can show up differently if they want to.

What’s been fascinating to realize is that when I stop broadcasting my own internal struggle, there’s suddenly room for other people to show up differently too. Not because I convinced them. Not because I managed them into it. Just because the entire field changed when I changed my stance.

This is happening everywhere right now, isn’t it? Everyone’s screaming, trying to get attention. Debate has become meaningless because it’s not about understanding at all. We’re all reacting instead of doing what needs doing. Taking the bait instead of changing the game.

What if we just didn’t?

What Happiness Actually Is

I’m starting to think happiness isn’t what I thought it was. It’s not achieving my goals. It’s not everything going smoothly. It’s not even managing my emotions well enough that I feel good most of the time.

It’s showing up fully. Applying all my capabilities to solve problems. Helping others succeed. Caring for my family. Using every tool in my toolkit to do what needs doing.

When I pay attention to that instead of trying to control outcomes, the anxiety and worry fade away. Not because I’ve mastered some technique, but because I’m focused on what’s actually in my hands. My stance. My frame. My choice about which game I’m playing.

Maybe that’s what Melva understood. I am happy with today. Not because today was perfect. Not because everything went the way she wanted. But because every part of her showed up for it.

The weather is what it is. You can spend all your energy trying to command the waves to be calm, or you can find your frame and navigate whatever comes.

I’m still learning what this means in practice. Still finding my alignment. Still adjusting when I notice I’ve tensed up and started fighting again.

But I think happiness starts here. With dropping the rope. Letting the monster rage. Finding a different stance. Choosing which game you’re actually playing.

And then showing up fully for whatever today brings. Happy with today.