I decided to take a little break from reading catastrophe memoirs, and I picked up The Art of Possibility, by Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander.

Benjamin Zander, a conductor, explains a technique—“giving an A”— he used in his class on the Art of Musical Performance. From experience, he knew his students would be so anxious about their grades that they wouldn’t take risks—yet taking risks was essential to their mastery.

So he announced that each student would get an A for the course.

“However,” he told them, “there is one requirement that you must fulfill to earn this grade…you must write me a letter dated next May…‘Dear Mr. Zander, I got my A because…,’ and in this letter you are to tell, in as much detail as you can, the story of what will have happened to you by next May that is in line with this extraordinary grade.”

He includes some excerpts from students’ letters, and they’re astonishing to read. Putting themselves in the future, the students wrote letters that described with extraordinary excitement and relief the goals they’d attained and the fears they’d surmounted. It was surprisingly moving.

It struck me that the Happiness Project is a bit like the “giving an A” approach. Although I frame the process differently, I imagine very clearly how I want my life to have changed, for the better, by the end of this year.

Eliminating grades might seem like a utopian strategy that wouldn’t work in any other context, but my law school used a lesser version. At Yale (at least when I was there), for that first terrifying semester, all first-year students got a “Pass” for their classes, unless they did something extreme—like refuse to take the exams. And for all three years, Yale Law School only awarded grades of “High Pass,” “Pass,” “Low Pass,” and “Fail.” Low Passes were quite rare; I’ve never heard of a Fail.

The funny thing is, most of the students—even the first-years—studied just as hard. But this system took the edge off considerably, and it allowed people to take much greater risks in what they chose to do. I wrote a paper about dread!

In our last year of law school, a friend had a funny experience at a job interview.

“What’s your class rank?” asked the interviewer.

“We don’t really get grades,” my friend said, and he explained the Yale system. “So we aren’t ranked.”

“But surely you must have some idea of your rank in the class. Approximately where do you stand?”

“I really don’t have any way to know, because I don’t know what other people get.”

“But you must have some idea,” the interviewer insisted. “Take a guess.”

“Well,” my friend said, “I’d guess I’m first in my class.”

So try this: imagine that it’s December 2006, and you’re very pleased with the “A” you received in recognition of all that you accomplished this semester. What will you have done to deserve that “A”?

Tips for getting your sweetheart to do chores—without nagging.

In marriage, or any partnership, chores are a huge source of conflict. How do you get your sweetheart to hold up his or her end, without nagging?

 It’s annoying to hear a hectoring voice, so suggest tasks without words. When the Big Man needs a prescription filled, he puts his empty medicine bottle on the bathroom counter. Then I know to get it re-filled.

 If you need to voice a reminder, limit yourself to one word. Instead of barking out, “Now remember, I’ve told you a dozen times, stop off at the grocery store, we need milk, if you forget, you’re going right back out!” Instead, call out, “Grocery store!” or “Milk!”

 Don’t insist that a task be done on your schedule. “You’ve got to trim those hedges today!” Says who? Try, “When are you planning to trim the hedges?” If possible, show why something needs to be done by a certain time. “Will you be able to trim the hedges before our party next week?”

 Remind your partner that it’s better to decline a task than to break a promise. The Big Man told me that he’d emailed some friends to tell them we had to miss their dinner party to go to a family dinner—but he hadn’t. Then I had to cancel at the last minute. Now I tell him, “You don’t have to do it. But tell me, so I can it.”

 Have clear assignments. I always call repairmen; the Big Man always empties the Diaper Genie.

 Every once in a while, do your sweetheart’s task, for a treat. This kind of pitching-in wins enormous goodwill.

 Assign chores based on personal priorities. I hate a messy bedroom more than the Big Man, but he hates a messy kitchen more than I. So I do more tidying in the bedroom, and he does more in the kitchen.

 Do it yourself. I used to be annoyed with the Big Man because we never had cash in the house. Then I realized: why did I get to assign that job? Now I do it, and we always have cash, and I’m not annoyed.

 Keep a to-do list. That way, if an energetic mood strikes, you know what needs doing. This works very well with the Big Man. He makes fun of me, but I see him consult the list.

 Set aside a weekend afternoon for home improvement. Your sweetheart may think, “I’ll clean out the mess in the breakfast room when I have some free time,” but no one has that much free time. Make time for it.

 Settle for a partial victory. Maybe your partner won’t put dishes in the dishwasher, but getting them from the family room into the sink is a big improvement.

 Re-frame: decide that you actually enjoy a chore. This sounds ridiculous, but it works. I usually dislike shopping for kids’ clothes, but because the Big Man enjoys back-to-school shopping, I was able to find it fun, too.

 Re-frame: decide that you don’t mind doing a chore—like putting clothes in the hamper or hanging up wet towels.

 Don’t push for the impossible. The Big Man knows that there’s no way I’ll do anything relating to our car, so he doesn’t even ask.

 No carping from the sidelines. If your partner made the travel arrangements, don’t criticize the flight time. If your partner got the kids dressed, don’t mock the outfits. If you want something done your way, do it yourself.

 Remember that messy areas tend to stay messy, and tidy areas tend to stay tidy. If you want your partner to be neat, be neat yourself.

 If a task is a high priority, make that clear. I used to leave popsicle sticks all around the house. Then the Big Man held one up and said very nicely, “You know how some people feel about the cap being left off the toothpaste? That’s how I feel about these things.” Message received.

 Think about how money might be able to buy some happiness. Could you find a teenager to mow the lawn? Could you hire a weekly cleaning service? Could you buy prepared foods? Eliminating conflict in a relationship is a high happiness priority, so this is a place to spend money if it can help.

 A friend has a very radical solution: she and her husband don’t assign. That’s right. They never say, “Get me a diaper,” “The trash needs to go out,” etc. This only works because neither one of them is a slacker, but still—what a tactic!

I admit that these tips are practically useless, however, in a situation where one person is absolutely oblivious for the need for chores to be done. I have it easy, because if anything, the Big Man is more chore-oriented than I am. If a person simply does not care, it’s practically impossible to get him or her to participate.

Yesterday, I asked the Big Girl to bring some dishes into the kitchen. She hopped to it without protest, but on her way back, dropped a mug full of black coffee which splattered on the carpet, wall, and wooden floor.

I smugly congratulated myself for holding my temper. In a tight but calm voice, I told her and the Big Man to get towels, and they both helped clean up. But did I leave it at that? Nope. I couldn’t resist some kind of remonstrance.

“The lesson is that you shouldn’t load yourself up too much,” I instructed. “It’s better to make two trips and not risk dropping something. It just makes more work, in the end.”

“Don’t blame me!” she wailed. “You always say it’s my fault.”

Of course I’d said nothing like that, and I don’t always say things are her fault. But she was right that I was feeling annoyed. We all had to leave, just then, so we didn’t continue the conversation. But after we left, I had to go back for my sunglasses, and I had a minute to think about the incident from her perspective.

She was asked to do a pesky, if appropriate, chore, and she did it willingly. Just as she was about to finish, something went wrong. I know that feeling so well—the disappointment and frustration that comes when a good deed is thwarted.

How do I rate my reaction? I didn’t get angry—good. I didn’t praise her willingness—optional, but would have been nice. I didn’t say in a jovial way, “Accidents happen! Quick, everyone grab towels, and let’s mop up”—which would have been a much pleasanter response, happier both for them and for me.

The Happiness Project may have me over-thinking my every move, but I do believe it’s slowly making a difference. Last year, I think I would have found some way to yell. Next year, maybe I’ll be able to handle something like that with sincere good cheer.

I was at the drug store yesterday, loaded up with necessities, when I discovered that my credit-card wallet wasn’t in my backpack.

I have a special system for handling my wallet stuff. After a friend’s wallet was stolen, with four friends sitting right there, I changed the way I organize my wallet items.

My backpack has an outside zipper that opens a small side pocket, and a top zipper that opens the entire bag. The outer pocket is far more vulnerable, but also more convenient. So in that pocket I keep a zippered pouch that holds my change, some cash for the day, my subway card, and my bank card. Tucked deep inside a side pocket in the main bag I keep a small wallet with two credit cards, my insurance cards, my driver’s license, and my AAA card.

My aim is to avoid going into my credit-card wallet very often, so that I’m less likely to lose it, and to keep it inaccessible, so it’s less likely to be stolen.

I always keep this wallet in exactly the same place, so when it was missing, I was pretty worried. But even though I was anxious, I was comforted by my set-up. It would’ve been pretty tough for someone to steal that wallet, and given what I’d been doing the last few days, it was unlikely that I’d lost it. I hurried home and found it right away. When I’d thrown my backpack on a chair, it had slid out.

The incident did show me that I didn’t have a clear idea of what to do if the wallet had been gone. So this morning I typed up a list of its contents and the numbers to call if it went missing. I’m going to do the same thing tonight for the Big Man. That way, if the worst happens, it won’t be a horrible nightmare to try to figure out what’s missing and whom to call.

Finding my wallet gave me a quick surge of joy that dissipated almost immediately. Call this the “lost wallet syndrome”—when you’ve lost your wallet, you think, “If only I could have my wallet back, how happy I would be!” But when you get your wallet back, the delighted relief comes and goes in a flash.

Once again, I’m reminded of one of Life’s True Rules: it’s hard to be grateful for the absence of a problem.

Losing my wallet certainly gave me an entry for my gratitude journal–and of course, it’s a good example of the benefit of keeping a gratitude journal, as trumped up as it sometimes does seem to me.
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Here’s Roy Peter Clark’s fabulous list of 50 tools for better writing–very specific and clearly explained. I’m trying to figure out if there’s a way to pull the 50 ways up in a single document, so I can print it out without opening each “tool” individually.

“Contemplate the extent and stability of the heavens, and then at last cease to admire worthless things.” –Boethius.