The Tao of Martha Read Online Free PDF Page A

happier if I were to pattern my life from her recipe?
    I plan to find out.
    As soon as I finish with these damn curtains.

    S ince I’ve decided to live My Year of Martha, I have to set up some parameters, like what I plan to concentrate on and how I’ll measure success. My first task is to figure out what makes me happy.
    So I ask Fletch.
    “Can you tell when I’m happy?”
    Fletch is sitting at his desk, going over bills. He swivels around in his chair all Bond-villain-style to address me. “Oh, God, yes. You’re an entirely different person when you’re in a good mood. You’re effusive, you’re chatty, and your voice goes up. You whirl around the house like a maniac and you’re just, like, delighted at everything. When you’re pleased, you clap like a seal. You also spend a good deal of time congratulating yourself.”
    I flop onto the couch across from him. “Huh. Didn’t know that. What do I do when I’m unhappy?”
    He strokes his chin and looks up at the ceiling while he thinks. “Your voice is flatter and you get really quiet and withdrawn. You don’t sing—badly—while you’re cooking. You don’t bust out your patented disco dance moves like you do when you’re just overcome with joy. You’re less social, and you’re a lot less likely to leave the house. Also? You argue with strangers.”
    That doesn’t sound right.
    “I argue with strangers when I’m happy, too. It’s kind of who I am, like with the complaining. I’m often delighted to be able to bitch about something inconsequential. Like, I live to grouse about our postman.”
    He nods. “True enough. But when you complain and you’re happy, you don’t take the situation personally and you’re just trying to be funny. So, how about this—you ruminate more when you’re not happy. You don’t take a perceived slight and turn it into something positive or a call to action. You fixate. You stew. You have trouble moving past the most minor thing. You’re a lot quicker to escalate.”
    Chuck Norris saunters into the room, jumping over the pile of dogs perpetually in my wake, and settles into my lap. I knead the fur at the back of his thick neck and he purrs appreciatively. “Sounds kind of awful.”
    “For better or for worse, you know? Last year did a number on you. But don’t worry; the beard understands,” he says while lovingly rubbing his chin. (I cannot be held responsible if someone shaves him in his sleep.)
    As I greatly dislike the description of Unhappy Jen, I’m determined not to let 2012 get the better of me, so I need to nail down this happiness business.
    Because I’ve been so tuned in to what made me unhappy in 2011, I’m at a definite advantage. I simply need to take a look at everything that made me cranky and then do the opposite.
    Chaos and disorganization made me unhappy last year. Like, I despise being late, yet I was delayed walking out the door at least a hundred times when I couldn’t find my stupid shoes. Much as I want to imagine I’m still all cute and perpetually twenty-two years old, flighty and adorably seat-of-my-pants like I was in college, I have to admit that this haphazard way of life no longer works for me. I don’t have my college metabolism; nor do I have my college capacity to thrive in disorder. I need to be deep-down organized, and not just what-looks-good-on-the-surface tidy.
    The idea of living a more orderly life is seriously attractive. I suspect that Julia and Finch are so happy because they’re organized. They alwayshave a plan. Julia’s a pharmaceutical rep and a mom, and if she couldn’t manage all those details of both jobs, she’d never have time to take care of herself. Finch is a pilot; if he weren’t meticulous and systematic in his checklists, people could die. They’re poster children for lives free from chaos, and I’d do well to model myself after them.
    I also feel like I spent a lot of time last year being reactive, rather than proactive. Like, the first time