One of my most obvious yet helpful commandments is “Identify the problem.”

Very often, I allow myself to be bugged by problems that I haven’t made any effort to solve, and I’ve been amazed by how easily I manage to come up with effective solutions once I take the time to articulate problems.

Several months ago, I realized that a low-grade, persistent annoyance in my life was that I didn’t know what to do with various keepsake papers associated with the Big Girl and the Little Girl. For example, I wanted them both to have a copy of their birthday party invitations, the family Valentine’s cards we send out each year, family wedding invitations, class photos, etc. Where should I store these items?

Making little piles of stuff in out-of-the-way cabinets and pinning papers to the bulletin board wasn’t a long-term solution.

A friend told me that she made scrapbooks of such items for each of her kids, but my heart sank at the thought. I just couldn’t face it. So much work.

Then I had a fantastic idea. File boxes. I decided to splurge a bit (my resolutions include “Indulge in a modest splurge” and “Spend money to further my goals” in this case, “Be a storehouse of happy memories”), and instead of buying ugly cardboard file boxes — the kind of cardboard box used to transport files — I bought a slightly fancier version from some upscale office supply store. I wish they were prettier, but they’re a lot better than cardboard.

I fitted them both out with a pack of files. I labeled the first file “Baby” and put in some baby memorabilia – birth announcement, invitation to the first birthday. Then I made a folder for each year of school. I only include a few samples of schoolwork, because I want to limit these files to special items. When the girls are older, I’ll include report cards, school programs, and the like.

I get a little thrill every time I see these boxes. They’re such a great solution to a problem: now it’s easy to put these mementos away; the boxes are very compact and organized; they’ll make great keepsakes for the girls when they’re older. How fun, when you’re fifty years old, to be able to look back at the birthday invitation you sent out when you turned seven!

So satisfying.

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In case you’ve never checked it out, Seth Godin’s very popular blog is well worth a visit. He has a marketing/business slant, but his posts — short, snappy, and engaging — are almost always of general interest.

I have certain words and phrases that I love, and one of those words is evidence. (Others include “cargo,” “scintillating scotoma” and “intangible hereditable.”)

In law school, I liked learning about kinds of evidence: fruit of the poisonous tree, dying declarations, excited utterances. I loved the title of Edward Tufte’s book, Beautiful Evidence. And I was intrigued by a phrase I first heard from a friend who is a terrorism expert: secret evidence.

In general, “secret evidence” means information that is classified and need not be shown to the accused. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my own kind of secret evidence.

A French proverb that I’ve quoted a million times is “There is no such thing as love, there are only proofs of love.” Which I take to mean that I shouldn’t march around claiming to feel love, but instead must show my love through actions.

One of the most challenging of my happiness-project resolutions is “Don’t expect praise or appreciation.” I really crave those gold stars, but I’ve been trying to do loving actions – especially for the Big Man – without expecting any recognition and without expecting him even to notice.

Oftentimes, there’s no way he could know, because my loving deed is something invisible, like me not losing my temper or not nagging.

Boy, it’s kind of pathetic how much I want to get gold stars.

But this morning it occurred to me that I could think of these gestures as my secret evidence. They are proofs of love, even if other people don’t know about them.

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If you’re feeling overwhelmed with entertainment options, a great place to get recommendations for books, movies, music, and gadgets is Head Butler. Sometimes the recommendations are for the latest things, sometimes for long-forgotten classics. I mostly use the reading suggestions, and find them very reliable.

Every Wednesday is Tip Day.
This Wednesday: Secrets of Adulthood.

What have I learned, with time and experience? Not much, I fear.

Here are my Secrets of Adulthood. Although these items may not seem particularly profound, each one was a revelation when I finally figured it out:

The days are long, but the years are short.

Someplace, keep an empty shelf.

Turning the computer on and off a few times often fixes a glitch.

It’s okay to ask for help.

You can choose what you do; you can’t choose what you LIKE to do.

Happiness doesn’t always make you feel happy.

What you do EVERY DAY matters more than what you do ONCE IN A WHILE.

You don’t have to be good at everything.

Soap and water removes most stains.

It’s important to be nice to EVERYONE.

You know as much as most people.

Over-the-counter medicines are very effective.

Eat better, eat less, exercise more.

What’s fun for other people may not be fun for you — and vice versa.

People actually prefer that you buy wedding gifts off their registry.

Houseplants and photo albums are a lot of trouble.

If you’re not failing, you’re not trying hard enough.

No deposit, no return.

One of my resolutions is to “Spread family cheer.”

To keep that resolution, I’ve been trying to send out happy, chatty family emails. It doesn’t take much effort, it’s very efficient, and by doing a good deed, I make myself happier, too (do good, feel good).

I’ve made it a practice always to send out an email after one of the girls has a check-up. Grandparents, aunts, and uncles—not to mention the Big Man—want to hear everything the doctor had to say.

I’m also trying to get in the habit of sending out emails with funny or sweet stories, as well—how the Little Girl lay in her crib for an hour, belting out songs at the top of her lungs, before falling asleep, or how the Big Girl spent hours carefully making Valentine’s cards for the children in her class.

At last, I’ve learned how to send digital photos over email (was I the last person on the planet to figure this out?), so I want to start sending photos, as well. My in-laws live right around the corner from us (right around the corner), so they don’t really need any pictures, but I know my parents and sister would love to get them.

I used to think it seemed boastful or self-centered to send out such emails, but I realize now that it’s a loving thing to do. They give everyone a quick jolt of happiness in the middle of their day.

As odd as it may sound, I’ve realized that we have a duty to be happy. One person’s happy news has the power to lift other people’s happiness as well—and this is particularly true of spouses and parents and children. Focusing attention on good news instead of bad news also helps to boost happiness.

So by sending out little happy emails, I can lift the spirits of others in my family.

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“Passion catalyst” Curt Rosengren from the Occupational Adventure has just started another interesting blog, HappyRant. Intriguing name. It’s meant to counteract our inclination to focus on the negative, but it’s not just positive kittens-rescued-from-trees stories; he aims to set our sights on higher things.

My earth-shattering happiness formula is: to be happy, you must think about feeling good, feeling bad, and feeling right, in an atmosphere of growth.

One of the puzzles that led me to devise this formula is the question: Do children make you happy? (For people who want children, I mean; some people are quite happy not having children.)

In Stumbling on Happiness, prominent psychologist Daniel Gilbert argues that children don’t, in fact, make their parents happy.

He points to studies that show that marital satisfaction plummets after the birth of the first child and increases after the last child has left home, and to research that shows that a group of women found childcare only slightly more pleasant than housework.

So why do people think children bring happiness? Because, Gilbert argues, without the successful transmission of that inaccurate belief, society would crash—no one would have kids. Also, he says, when people think about having kids, they imagine the fun and success, but not the inconvenience and anxiety.

I thought a lot about Gilbert’s argument and the well-known studies he references. I certainly know from my own experience that the Big Man and I bicker much more now that we have kids, we have fewer fun adventures, and we have less time for each other. And having children is a source of worry, aggravation, expense, and inconvenience, not to mention all the colds I pick up and the chaos of toys that drives me crazy.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t accept the argument that children don’t bring happiness. Because they do! Not always in a moment-to-moment way, perhaps, but in some deeper way…

I struggled to figure out how to account for this paradox in my formula, and that’s how I came up with feeling good, feeling bad, and feeling right.

I imagine that if I didn’t have children, day to day, I might very well have MORE feeling good and LESS feeling bad — more time reading in bed, less time replacing the caps on magic markers. Which means I’d be happier, right?

Wrong. Children are essential to my feeling right. Being a parent, holding your baby in your arms, taking your place in the circle of life…it’s corny but it’s true. Most people just wouldn’t feel right if they didn’t have kids. (Again, I recognize that some people don’t want kids; I’m not tackling the issue of their happiness here.)

Feeling right is an essential component of happiness. I don’t think that parents-to-be fool themselves that parenthood is all fun. They might not exactly anticipate what’s going to hit them with that first baby, but they know it’s not all playgrounds and valedictorian addresses.

There are times when feeling right means feeling bad. Consider a commute. Studies show (surprise!) that a bad commute is a real downer, and one to which we never adapt. But you might choose to have a bad commute in order to live in a neighborhood with good schools. Once your kids are in the good school, you’ll adapt to that circumstance, and it won’t be a source of feeling good, and the commute will make you feel bad every day. But it’s worth it, because you feel right about your trade-off.

Even though they may means less feeling good, and more feeling bad, I think children contribute mightily to happiness.

Also, they contribute to the atmosphere of growth that is important to happiness (and part of my formula). Seeing them learn, change, and grow boosts happiness.

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I’ve found an intriguing new blog, Trizoko. It’s about how to be more effective at work — but being more effective at work is often the same thing as being more effective in life. An unusual “voice” if I may use a term that I usually try to avoid.