Does more money mean more happiness?

Check out this great article by Alex Green who looks to answer the age old question: does more money mean more happiness?

“How little has situation to do with happiness.”
- Fanny Burney

STUMBLING ON HAPPINESS

By Alex Green

The recent decline in home values and the stock market – not to mention corporate and municipal bond markets – has left most investors with less than they had a year ago. To meet their long-term investment goals, many will have to spend less and save more than they originally planned.

This is not easy. As the economist Adam Smith wrote in The Wealth of Nations in 1776:

“The desire for food is limited in every man by the narrow capacity of the human stomach; but the desire of the conveniences and ornaments of building, dress, equipage, and household furniture, seems to have no limit or certain boundary.”

In the current economic downturn, many of us are unable to afford all the things we want. That pinches. But should it make us unhappy?

That depends. But for most of us, the answer is a resounding no.

As Harvard psychologist Daniel Gilbert writes in Stumbling On Happiness:

“Economists and psychologists have spent decades studying the relation between wealth and happiness, and they have generally concluded that wealth increases human happiness when it lifts people out of abject poverty and into the middle class but that it does little to increase happiness thereafter. Americans who earn $50,000 per year are much happier than those who earn $10,000 per year, but Americans who earn $5 million per year are not much happier than those who earn $100,000 per year. People who live in poor nations are much less happy than people who live in moderately wealthy nations, but people who live in moderately wealthy nations are not much less happy than people who live in extremely wealthy nations. Economists explain that wealth has ‘declining marginal utility,’ which is a fancy way of saying that it hurts to be hungry, cold, sick, tired, and scared, but once you’ve bought your way out of these burdens, the rest of your money is an increasingly useless pile of paper.”

If this is true, why are so many people out there busting their humps for more?

For some, it is the pursuit of financial independence, a worthy goal. But for others, the answer lies in their increasingly materialistic ways.

We all must consume to survive, of course. But when consumerism becomes an end in itself, when it overruns more important ideals, provides the measure of our success, or corrodes our capacity to know truth, see beauty, or feel love, our lives are diminished.

Some will argue that for economies to flourish, we need rampant consumerism. It is consumers’ insatiable hunger for more stuff that fuels the economic engine.

In many ways, this is true. In fact, the notion itself is hardly new. In 1759, Adam Smith wrote in The Theory of Moral Sentiments:

“The pleasures of wealth and greatness… strike the imagination as something grand and beautiful and noble, of which the attainment is well worth all the toil and anxiety which we are so apt to bestow upon it. … It is this deception which rouses and keeps in continual motion the industry of mankind.”

Notice that Smith, the father of the concept of free markets, referred to the endless pursuit of more as “this deception.” He recognized that the needs of a vibrant economy and the requirements for us to be happy as individuals are not the same.
Studies show that the riches and material goods we desire – should we have the good fortune to acquire them – won’t necessarily make us happier. Yet we often imagine they will, even when experience teaches us otherwise.

Walk into your local auto dealership, for example, and check out the cars in the showroom. They look sharp. They smell good. The tires have been blackened. The exteriors have been waxed and polished and Windexed until they gleam. In short, we are seduced by their newness.

And even though we know that a new automobile is perhaps the world’s fastest-depreciating asset – and within weeks we will be mindlessly traveling from point A to point B without a second thought about our vehicle’s make or model – we plunk for one.

As my grandmother used to say, “Most people can’t tell the difference between what they want and what they need.” (This remark, incidentally, was generally directed toward me and my latest two-dollar object of fascination at F.W. Woolworth.)

Look around today and you’ll have no problem finding folks with plenty of neat things: big cars, fancy boats, the latest electronic gadgets, and all sorts of expensive “bling.” They seem to have it all. What you may not realize is how many of them are two payments from the edge.

Yet some middle-class Americans remain obsessed with what they don’t have. To some, it just doesn’t seem right – doesn’t seem fair – that others have so much more than they do. But as political satirist P.J. O’Rourke observed:

“I have a 10-year-old at home, and she is always saying, ‘That’s not fair.’ When she says that, I say, ‘Honey, you’re cute; that’s not fair. Your family is pretty well off; that’s not fair. You were born in America; that’s not fair. Honey, you had better pray to God that things don’t start getting fair for you.’”

The Beautiful Truth

Can a movie change your life? I believe this one can...

With health care costs skyrocketing every day, it is clear that the current system of disease management doesn't work... unless of course you own stock in a drug company. It is time to make a change. It is time to give real healing a try. If you are passionate about your health and the health of your family, then you need to know "The Beautiful Truth." Enjoy the trailer, then go see the movie:

How You Do Anything is How You Do Everything

In this video, best selling author Geneen Roth refers to the great zen teacher and writer Cheri Huber who writes that "How you do anything is how you do everything." What an incredible statement! Our relationship with food for instance is the same as our relationship with money and other people and so on... it's all part of the same whole. You can't separate or compartmentalize one from the other. Enjoy the short video:

Can a story change your life?

Give this one a try, it's by Aikido master Terry Dobson:

A SOFT ANSWER
By Terry Dobson

A turning point in my life came one day on a train in the middle of a drowsy spring afternoon. The old car clanked and rattled over the rails. It was comparatively empty -- a few housewives with their kids in tow, some old folks out shopping, a couple of off-duty bartenders studying the racing form. I gazed absently at the drab houses and dusty hedge rows.

At one station the doors opened, and suddenly the quiet afternoon was shattered by a man bellowing at the top of his lungs -- yelling violent, obscene, incomprehensible curses. Just as the doors closed the man, still yelling, staggered into our car. He was big, drunk, and dirty. He wore laborer's clothing. His front was stiff with dried vomit. His eyes bugged out, a demonic, neon red. His hair was crusted with filth. Screaming, he swung at the first person he saw, a woman holding a baby. The blow glanced off her shoulder, sending her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple. It was a miracle that the baby was unharmed.

The couple jumped up and scrambled toward the other end of the car. They were terrified. The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old lady. "You old whore!" he bellowed. "I'll kick your ass!" He missed; the old woman scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk that he grabbed the metal pole at the center of the car and tried to wrench it out of its stanchion. I could see that one of his hands was cut and bleeding. The train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood tip.

I was young and in pretty good shape. I stood six feet, weighed 225. I'd been putting in a solid eight hours of aikido training every day for the past three years. I liked to throw and grapple. I thought I was tough. Trouble was, my martial skill was untested in actual combat. As students of aikido, we were not allowed to fight.

My teacher taught us each morning that the art was devoted to peace. "Aikido," he said again and again, "is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with the universe. If you try to dominate other people, you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it."

I listened to his words. I tried hard. I wanted to quit fighting. I even went so far as to cross the street a few times to avoid the "chimpira," the pinball punks who lounged around the train stations. They'd have been happy to test my martial ability. My forbearance exalted me. I felt both tough and holy. In my heart of hearts, however, I was dying to be a hero. I wanted a chance, an absolutely legitimate opportunity whereby I might save the innocent by destroying the guilty.

"This is it!" I said to myself as I got to my feet. "This slob, this animal, is drunk and mean and violent. People are in danger. If I don't do something fast, somebody will probably get hurt. I'm gonna take his ass to the cleaners."

Seeing me stand up, the drunk saw a chance to focus his rage. "Aha!" he roared. "A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!" He punched the metal pole once to give weight to his words.

I held on lightly to the commuter strap overhead. I gave him a slow look of disgust and dismissal. I gave him every bit of piss-ant nastiness I could summon up. I planned to take this turkey apart, but he had to be the one to move First. And I wanted him man, because the madder he got, the more certain my victory. I pursed my lips and blew him a sneering, insolent kiss. It hit him like a slap in the face. "All right!" he hollered. "You're gonna get a lesson." He gathered himself for a rush at me. He'd never know what hit him.

A split second before he moved, someone shouted "Hey!" It was ear splitting. I remember being struck by the strangely joyous, lilting quality of it -- as though you and a friend had been searching diligently for something, and he had suddenly stumbled upon it. "Hey!" I wheeled to my left, the drunk spun to his right. We both stared down at a little old Japanese man. He must have been well into his seventies, this tiny gentleman, sitting there immaculate in his kimono and hakama. He took no notice of me, but beamed delightedly at the laborer, as though he had a most important, most welcome secret to share.

"C'mere," the old man said in an easy vernacular, beckoning to the drunk. "C'mere and talk with me." He waved his hand lightly. The giant man followed, as if on a string. He planted his feet belligerently in front of the old gentleman and towered threateningly over him.

"Talk to you?" he roared above the clacking wheels. "Why the hell should I talk to you?" The drunk now had his back to me. If his elbow moved so much as a millimeter, I'd drop him in his socks.

The old man continued to beam at the laborer. There was not a trace of fear or resentment about him. "What'cha been drinkin'?" he asked lightly, with interest. "I been drinkin' sake," the laborer bellowed back, "and it's none of your god dam business!"

"Oh, that's wonderful," the old man said with delight. "Absolutely wonderful! You see, I love sake, too. Every night, me and my wife (she's seventy-six, you know), we warm up a little bottle of sake and take it our into the garden, and we sit on the old wooden bench that my grandfather's first student made for him. We watch the sun go down, and we look to see how our persimmon tree is doing. My great-grandfather planted that tree, you know, and we worry about whether it will recover from those ice storms we had last winter. Persimmons do not do well after ice storms, although I must say that ours has done rather better that I expected, especially when you consider the poor quality of the soil. Still, it is most gratifying to watch when we take our sake and go out to enjoy the evening--even when it rains!" He looked up at the laborer, eyes twinkling, happy to share his delightful information.

As he struggled to follow the intricacies of the old ma@n's conversation, the drunk's face began to soften. His fists slowly unclenched. "Yeah," he said slowly, "I love persimmons, too..." His voice trailed off.

"Yes," said the old man, smiling, "and I'm sure you have a wonderful wife."

"No," replied the laborer, "my wife died." He hung his head. Very gently, swaying with the motion of the train, the big man began to sob. "I don't got no wife, I don't got no home, I don't got no job, I don't got no money, I don't got nowhere to go. I'm so ashamed of myself." Tears rolled down his cheeks; a spasm of pure despair rippled through his body. Above the baggage rack a four-color ad trumpeted the virtues of suburban luxury living.

Now it was my turn. Standing there in my well-scrubbed youthful innocence, my make-this-world-safe-for-democracy righteousness, I suddenly felt dirtier than he was.

Just then, the train arrived at my stop. The platform was packed, and the crowd surged into the car as soon as the doors opened. Maneuvering my way out, I heard the old man cluck sympathetically. "My, my," he said with undiminished delight, "that is a very difficult predicament, indeed. Sit down here and tell me about it."

I turned my head for one last look. The laborer was sprawled like a sack on the seat, his head in the old man's lap. The old man looked down at him, all compassion and delight, one hand softly stroking the filthy, matted head.

As the train pulled away, I sat down on a bench. What I had wanted to do with muscle and meanness had been accomplished with a few kind words. I had seen aikido tried in combat, and the essence of it was love, as the founder had said. I would have to practice the art with an entirely different spirit. It would be a long time before I could speak about the resolution of conflict.

Did Your New Year's Resolutions Last?

If you are like a majority of Americans, you set one or more New Year's Resolution. Here we are nearly 6 months later and I have one question: did you keep your resolutions?

Did you know that of the roughly 60% of Americans who set resolutions, less than 10% are successful! In fact, time management firm FranklinCovey found that a third won't even make it to the end of January. OUCH!

So why are we so bad at achieving our goals?

According to Mark Murphy, the main reason is that most of us set small goals that are NOT very inspiring. But for most of the great goal achievers - Gandhi, Kennedy, MLK, Mother Teresa - they set huge goals that got them really excited. They realized the secret that all great goal setters know: if you have a big enough and compelling enough "why" or story behind your goal, the "how" will fall into place.

Each of these great goal achievers told a story about how they were going to change the world for the better. The stakes were so high that they couldn't contemplate not achieving their goal. In a way, it was all or nothing for them!

Unfortunately, most Americans don't do this. They set wimpy goals that look more like to-do lists. You could say these safe goals are more work than play. So when the going gets tough (which it inevitably will with any worthwhile goal), these goals or New Year's Resolutions get abandoned - they get postponed to the following year. And this cycle continues year after year after year.

So if you want to be part of that less than 10 percent that actually does achieve their New Year's Resolutions, its time to set big, bold, inspiring ones that get you so excited that failure is just not an option.

As June 1 rolls around (half way into the new year), try setting some new and improved resolutions! See what's possible!

Living Rich

What does it mean to live rich? According to marketing guru and best-selling author Michael Masterson, many of us confuse having lots of cool toys with living rich. Check out this amazing article by Masterson called "The Most Important Thing I Ever Learned About Living Rich." Here it is:

"The most important thing I ever learned about 'living rich' was taught to me by a former rich guy who dropped out of the moneymaking game to study Chinese philosophy and teach Tai Chi.

Jeff and I had been friends since high school. Twenty-five years ago, when we were still relatively young men, we were partners in a merchandise vending business that was making lots of money. Jeff’s annual compensation was in the mid six-figure range.

One day he quit. Since then, he has supported himself as a consultant and by teaching Chinese martial arts. His departure from business did not diminish our relationship in any way. Rather, it allowed us to pursue different careers and compare notes along the way.

I’ve written about Jeff before. He is a serious and careful thinker. And we’ve been having two or three extended conversations over the years – ongoing discussions about topics in which we are both interested.

We talk about ontology. We talk about sexuality. We talk about aging and health. One thing we rarely discuss is money. But several months ago the subject did come up, and it changed my developing understanding of wealth.

I mentioned to Jeff that I was working on a book about 'living rich.' I explained that my thesis was that one didn’t need a ton of money to live well. I explained that most wannabe rich people spend too much money on the symbols of wealth, things that don’t matter. And they spend too little money on things that do matter… like mattresses.

“Mattresses?” Jeff raised an eyebrow.

“The average person spends seven or eight hours sleeping every night,” I said. “But when it comes time to buy a mattress, he looks for bargains. Yet the best mattress in the world will last ten times longer than a cheap one, and will provide him with tens of thousands of hours of good sleep.”

Jeff listened to me, amused, and then he asked: “What do you think of when you think of wealth?”

Besides being an expert in ancient Chinese philosophy, Jeff is a master of the Socratic dialogue. I knew that this question was just the first step of a walk I would be taking with him. I gamely went along.

“I’m not sure. I guess I think about the symbols – the big houses with swimming pools and fancy cars.”

“That’s interesting,” he said. “Now do this: Imagine yourself lying on a lounge chair next to a swimming pool next to a huge house with a big black car on the side.”

I closed my eyes and did as he asked.

“Do you have yourself in the picture?” Jeff asked.

“Yes,” I told him.

“And how do you feel?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Good.”

“Can you be more precise?”

I focused on the feeling. “Tranquil,” I said. “And safe.”

“That’s interesting,” he said.

We didn’t talk any more about it that day. But that’s typical of our conversations. They progress.

It intrigued me that the feelings I associated with wealth were very different than I would have guessed. Tranquil? Safe? Really?

A month later, Jeff and I had lunch at one of his favorite restaurants in Palm Beach, a small Italian bistro. When I arrived, Jeff was seated at his usual table, chatting with Giuseppe, the maitre d’. He stood to embrace me, and then offered me a glass of Prosecco from the half bottle that was chilling at the table.

This was going to be a long, luxurious lunch. First we had the sparkling wine. Then we had appetizers, then the main course, and, finally, espressos outside on the patio so I could enjoy a cigar.

When I eat by myself, I eat quickly – almost furiously. It is as if I see eating as a necessary evil. The faster I can get it done, the sooner I can go back to work.

But with Jeff, eating is very different. It is slow. It is deliberate. It is conscious. Jeff talks about the menu du jour. He savors the wine. He relishes the food. Time slows down, and I feel myself becoming more aware of the luxuriousness of the experience.

Sitting on the patio after lunch, sipping our espressos, I brought up our previous discussion.

“I’ve been thinking about how I feel when I think about wealth,” I told him.

“And…” said Jeff.

I told him that I thought my feelings about wealth came from my early childhood. We were a family of 10 living on a teacher’s income. We were the poorest family on Maple Street, which was one of the poorest streets in town. The feeling I had then was a combination of anxiety (the fear that my schoolmates would despise me for being poor) and embarrassment (because of the clothes I wore, the lunches my mother packed, etc.). I told Jeff that I realized my adult feelings about wealth – tranquility and safety – were the opposite of the feelings I had when I was poor – anxiety and fear.

“That’s interesting,” he said.

After a moment, he said, “Michael, you have been very successful in the acquisition of wealth – more successful than 99% of those people who seek it. Are you saying now that your pursuit of wealth was actually a pursuit of the two childhood feelings you associated with wealth?”

“Yes,” I said.

He nodded. “And what percentage of your time have you spent working to make money and buy the symbols of wealth?”

“Lots of time,” I admitted.

“And yet you found that when you had the money and the house and the cars, you still didn’t always have the feelings you were seeking?”

“Right.”

“Now let me ask you this. Have you ever spent any time trying to feel wealthy?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean seeking the feelings rather than the things?”

I admitted that I had spent almost no time doing that.

“And how often do you feel wealthy?” he asked.

“Not that often,” I admitted.

“When was the last time you felt wealthy?”

“I feel wealthy now,” I told him.

He nodded again.

“Let’s take a walk,” he said. “There’s a little store near here that has a great selection of international magazines.”

We meandered over to the store and spent 20 minutes looking through French and Italian and Japanese magazines that I had never seen before. The pace, like the pace of our lunch, was leisurely – almost languid. And that somehow opened me up. It gave me ideas for some of the magazines I publish. It gave me thoughts about art projects I might start. It left me feeling inspired… and something else. It left me feeling richer.

So this was, I realized, another feeling I had when I felt wealthy. It was the feeling of acquisition – not of things but inspiration and knowledge.

That was an “Aha!” moment for me.

I had spent most of my adult life stressing myself to acquire the symbols of wealth, yet I seldom felt wealthy. Jeff, on the other hand, had left the world of acquiring financial wealth, yet enjoyed the feeling of wealth most of the time!

Jeff doesn’t eschew the material aspects of wealth. Beautiful things and elegant service are real, and he knows that. But he understands something about those things that most rich people don’t: Having them doesn’t give you the feeling you are looking for. You get that feeling from being conscious of and enjoying them.

Instead of buying a yacht that costs millions and must be maintained by a staff of people and worried about all year long, Jeff reads about yachts and then goes to yacht shows to experience the boats he has read about. Instead of buying a $6 million condo in Aspen, Jeff is happy to spend three days vacationing there at the Little Nell hotel.

The feeling of wealth for me now has three elements: tranquility, safety, and emotional or intellectual enrichment.

You get the tranquility, Jeff has taught me, by simply slowing down. When you slow down, you can pay attention to what you are experiencing. You can savor the wine. You can taste the food. You can smell the roses.

You get the feeling of safety by not spending more than you can afford. This you can do on a budget by banishing the illusion that you need to own everything. Since learning this lesson from Jeff, my wife and I experienced the rich ambiance of the George Cinq Hotel in Paris without booking a $1,500 room. We spent an amazing 90 minutes in the terrace bistro drinking wine.

You need money – lots of money – to own the symbols of wealth. But you get the feeling of emotional and intellectual enrichment by understanding what makes you feel rich, seeking it out, and being fully aware of the experience. Again: Smell the roses!"

Meditation for Beginners

"Tension is who you think you should be. Relaxation is who you are." -- Old Chinese Proverb

Sure it reduces stress and helps us relax, but who really has the time to meditate these days.

People barely have time to talk to their kids, let alone sitting cross legged on the floor for 20 minutes, staring at a blank wall. Doesn't sound like much fun to me!

But meditation can be much more dynamic and creative. And did I mention that it doesn't have to take much time either...

Here are some simple ways beginners can meditate:

Listening:

Listening is an active way to still the mind. When you are listening to the sound of your breath, music or noises in your home for a few minutes, you naturally become more mindful and aware of your surroundings. The mental chatter seems to dissolve and what's left is a more focused and refreshed mind.

Laughing

When you are laughing, you are mindful and fully present. You are also highly relaxed. It is difficult to be tense and lost in thought when you are laughing. Just look at children. They are laughter experts. They laugh often and easily throughout the day. Laugher is another great way to restore relaxation and clarity to an often clouded thinking mind.

Drinking Tea or Taking a Walk

Sipping hot tea and going for an early morning walk are other great meditations. Think of the hot steam rising from your mug. Or imagine your feet slowly pressing down on cool blades of grass. When you enjoy these activities, you are not thinking about the past or the future. You are in the moment. And being fully present is precisely the magic of meditation!

Don’t let the name fool you. Any activity has the potential to be a meditation when you slow down, turn off your auto-pilot thinking mind and become more aware of what you are doing.

We can all meditate - anytime anywhere. Give it a try!