Elizabeth, you know we are always talking about the small things that we can do that make a big impact, not just in our own lives but for the planet as well.
And that's why I'm such a big fan of our food recycler, Mill.
Mill is the one easy thing that makes reducing food waste effortless.
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Did you know that infants are ready to learn sign language?
Two-year-olds are ready to learn the basics of science and three-year-olds are ready to learn coding.
Your child is ready to learn and at Primrose Schools, teachers make the most of this time by creating a joyful, purposeful learning experience unlike any other.
For instance, have you heard of the Primrose Friends?
In every Primrose school classroom, teachers use these 12 lovable puppets to make character development joyful, meaningful and memorable.
From exploring generosity with Benjamin the Bear to practicing honesty with Peanut the Pony, every friend plays a special part in helping children learn important values while having plenty of fun along the way.
We could all use some friends like that.
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Now enrolling infants through children age five.
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Hello, we're here for More Happier, a podcast where we get happier.
I love teaching stories, and around this time of year I find myself drawn to the ones that unsettle me a little.
In honor of Halloween, I'm sharing a collection of A Little Happier episodes that each explores a haunting question.
Why does a beloved room lose its warmth the moment its owner dies?
What if every attempt to escape our fate only brings us closer to it?
Are we guided by unseen forces, even when we think we're choosing for ourselves?
These stories offer insights about real patterns in life and human nature that we all experience.
Let's start with an ancient Mesopotamian tale about death.
Who turns out to be surprisingly polite and never misses a scheduled appointment?
Once upon a time, long, long ago, there lived a merchant in Baghdad.
One morning, the merchant sent his servant to the marketplace to buy food for the house.
Before long, however, the servant returned to the house with a look of terror in his eyes.
The merchant asked his servant, What frightened you?
And the servant replied, As I was passing through the market, I was jostled.
And when I turned to see who had done it, I saw that it was death.
Death looked right at me and made a threatening gesture.
Please, sir, lend me your horse so that I can ride away from this city to avoid my fate.
I'll ride to the city of Samara so that death can't find me.
The merchant was a kind man and he took pity on his servant and lent him the use of his horse, and the servant mounted up and raced away.
Then the merchant went out to the marketplace himself to look for Death.
And when he saw Death, he said indignantly, "'Why did you startle and threaten my servant this morning?'
With great courtesy, Death replied, "'Oh, I meant no harm.
It was just a start of surprise.'
I was astonished to see your servant here in Baghdad.
I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.
This is a story that illustrates a profound truth.
Our actions are fateful.
But it's not possible for us to know that fate and either pursue or avoid it until it happens.
There are times when I've felt a shiver in the air, when suddenly a moment reverberates with an eternal meaning.
Somehow the world of symbols seems to become tangible and transcendent forces activate.
I remember one instance.
It was my turn to host the evening meeting of one of my children's and young adult literature book groups.
We'd met, we discussed the book over dinner, and we all sat talking.
I don't even remember what we were talking about.
But at one point, one friend observed, I always want to feel empty.
And the person next to her said, I always want to feel full.
This exchange hit me with tremendous force.
It was as if Jungian archetypes burst into the room, loomed over the table, and then vanished.
Thinking back on this moment years later, I emailed each of them to ask.
Years ago, there was this brief exchange.
Do you remember it?
Both of them remembered it.
None of us said anything in a moment that passed in a flash, but we all felt the power of that exchange.
I felt the same force around a friend who seemed trapped in a Greek tragedy or under a holy gaze.
Bad things were happening to her, but it wasn't just that bad things were happening to her.
Bad things happened to all of us.
It was that the bad things seemed designed especially for her, to teach her a set of very specific lessons.
It was uncanny.
One of my life's great experiences was my time clerking for Justice Sandra Day O'Connor on the Supreme Court.
Justice O'Connor is a brilliant jurist with a pragmatic, straightforward approach to the world.
And yet, it also seemed to me that she embodied something transcendent and symbolic.
For one thing, like all the clerks, we addressed her and the other justices as justice.
It was her title, of course, but it always struck me that every time we spoke to her, we were invoking the spirit of justice, the virtue she was meant to uphold.
And beyond that, in some way that I've never been able to understand, Justice O'Connor seems to embody a particular aspect of the United States in its vast open spaces, restless people searching for a better life and praying for rain, in some mystical way that, I must say, is utterly incongruous with her actual personality.
If you want to hear a longer discussion about the conversation where one friend said I always want to feel empty and a friend responded I always want to feel full, listen to episode 285 of The Happier Podcast, where Elizabeth and I talk to my friend author Susan Burton, about her brilliant memoir.
The title of her memoir is Empty.
Sometimes the transcendent seems to appear in the concrete, ordinary world, in a conversation, in an experience or even in a person.
A friend was telling me about how she'd visited the apartment of her godmother, who had recently died.
It was strange, she told me.
While my godmother was alive, her apartment looked beautiful to me.
It was a little shabby, but it felt well-kept.
It was an inviting place.
But once she died, everything seemed to just fall apart.
It felt grimy and dilapidated.
This observation reminded me of something similar that I'd experienced after my grandmother died.
Suddenly, all the values seemed to drain away from her possessions.
Useful household objects such as clothes, dish towels and personal papers became little more than trash.
We project ourselves into our surroundings and during our lives, we infuse our possessions with our spirit.
When we die, this animating force evaporates.
Many of our possessions are valuable not because of their cost or prestige, but because of the meanings or usefulness they contain.
Modest trinkets, homemade objects, worn books, old photographs, whimsical collections, the items handled every day.
When the owner vanishes, we're left with mere husks.
It's a mysterious, startling, and transcendent transformation to experience.
Now time for a quick break.
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Gretch, you know how much I love Audible.
Audiobooks are such a huge part of my life.
I'm always telling people to start listening to audiobooks.
What I love is that Audible has something for everyone.
My most recent book I have teed up to listen to is...
Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yaros.
I am a huge romance lover have been since I was 12 years old and I've heard so much about this book.
I cannot wait to start listening.
Yeah, that's the great thing about Audible.
They have whatever you're in the mood for.
You can hear modern rom-coms from authors like Lily Chu and Allie Hazelwood, the latest Romantasy series from Sarah J Moss and Yes, Rebecca Yaros, and Regency favorites like Bridgerton and Outlander, plus all the really steamy stuff.
Whatever you're looking for, you can find the audiobook you will love.
Your first great love story is free when you sign up for a free 30-day trial at audiblecom.
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Well, hi, everybody.
It's Julia Louis-Dreyfus from the Wiser Than Me podcast.
And I'm not going to talk about food waste this time.
I'm going to talk about food resources.
All that uneaten food rotting in the landfill.
It could be enriching our soil or feeding our chickens, because it's still food.
And the easiest and, frankly way, coolest way to put all its nutrients to work is with the Mill Food Recycler.
It looks like an art house garbage can.
You can just toss your scraps in it like a garbage can, but it is definitely not a garbage can.
I mean, it's true.
I'm pretty obsessed with this thing.
I even invested in this thing.
But I'm not alone.
Any mill owner just might corner you at a party and rhapsodize about how it's completely odorless and it's fully automated and how you can keep filling it for weeks.
But the clincher is that you can depend on it for years.
Mill is a serious machine.
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There is an old story I often think about.
I learned this story from the famous 1947 picture book Stone Soup by Marsha Brown.
But it is a story that has been told in many versions for more than 300 years.
And different versions teach different lessons.
Here's my version.
Once upon a time, a traveler was trudging down a country road when he came to a little village.
He had no money and he was very hungry.
These were lean times and he knew that most people had little to give.
He knocked on the door of the first house he came to and when a woman opened it he asked Could you spare a bit of food for me?
The woman was poor herself and she didn't have much food on her own shelves, and she was suspicious of strangers.
So she said, No, I don't have any food to give, and shut the door.
The traveler went on to two more houses and got the same reply.
He could see that the villagers were all peeping out of their windows to see what he would do next, and he decided to try something different.
This traveler was a man of tricks and cunning.
He was clever and selfish and he decided to find a way to persuade the villagers to feed him, and he hoped to give him some money as well.
After some reflection, he walked into the woods where no one could see what he was doing, found a fair-sized stone on the ground, washed the stone with water from his canteen, wrapped it in a cloth as if it were very precious and stuck it in his pack.
He walked back into the village and knocked on the door of a fourth house.
When a man opened the door, instead of asking for food, the traveler said Please may I borrow a very large pot from you and may I have some water?
I'm hungry, and I want to make stone soup, and all I lack is water and a pot to put it in.
The owner of the home was a reasonable man.
I can lend you my biggest pot and give you water to fill it.
He answered.
But I warn you, I have no food to spare.
Oh, that's fine, said the traveler carelessly.
I have my stone, so I don't need anything else.
In the open where any nosy neighbor could watch what he was doing.
The traveler built a fire and put the pot of water onto heat.
Then he unwrapped his stone with great ceremony and carefully lowered it into the pot with a big spoon from his pack.
A few minutes later, he made a show of tasting something delicious from his spoon.
The owner of the pot was watching from his doorstep and because he was a curious man, he couldn't resist drawing close.
"'What are you making?' he asked.
"'Stone soup!
Delicious!' said the traveler."
All you need is a stone, said the villager.
To be sure, said the traveler, but this just isn't any stone.
It's a soup stone that makes a wonderful soup.
The soup is very good right now, but I must confess to be truly excellent.
This soup would benefit from a few carrots.
I wish I had some carrots.
Impressed, the villager said, well, I think I could spare some carrots, and he ran to get them.
His next-door neighbor was also curious, and she joined the two men who were busy around the pond.
What are you making, she asked.
Stone soup, said the villager.
This man has a stone that makes an excellent soup.
Can you imagine?
But it needed a few carrots, so I gave those.
Of course, if it had potatoes, then it would be even more delicious out of the traveler.
But potatoes aren't really necessary.
Well, if it's just a few potatoes, I could spare those, said the woman, and she ran to get them.
When she returned, she saw that more people had gathered.
One by one, eager to make the contribution that would make this miraculous stone soup truly outstanding, they each added something.
Beef, cabbage, onions, milk, salt, pepper...
Good people, cried the traveler alas.
My stone soup is ready.
Everyone grab a bowl.
I want to share it with you all.
What a generous man, the neighbors said to each other as they each hurried to bring a bowl and spoon from their homes.
How kind he is to allow us to share in this marvelous soup.
As they ate, the people of the village and the traveler laughed and talked together, and the villagers marveled at the stone that could make such a good, rich soup from nothing more than water.
When they had all finished their meal, the traveler announced, thank you all for your hospitality.
Now I must be on my way for I have a long journey ahead of me.
While he was preparing to leave, the villagers quietly conferred.
Before the traveler put his pack on his back, their leader spoke up.
Please, she said, please let us buy this stone from you.
We've gathered a handsome sum and we would be very glad if you would take this money with our deep thanks, and let us keep the stone.
The traveler considered.
Then he answered graciously.
As you know, the stone is very valuable, but in thanks for such a happy afternoon with such charming people, I am willing to make the exchange.
He pocketed the money, handed over the stone, and vanished down the road.
I'm often reminded of the story of Stone Soup.
For me, it's a reminder not to make the mistake that the villagers made.
It's all too easy to believe that someone else has figured out a magic solution, that this person has a quick fix that can easily make something desirable happen.
But it's very likely that the magic fix is an illusion.
And instead I need to do the hard work of adding a little of this and a little of that if I want to get the result I want.
I recently read writer and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston's haunting 1942 autobiography, Dust Tracks on a Road.
It reminded me of Carl Jung's memoir, Memories, Dreams, Reflections.
And that is high praise indeed.
She described something very mysterious that happened to her when she was about seven years old.
Now, one note as I read this passage, she mentions the journalist O.O.
McIntyre, who was a very popular newspaper columnist in the 1920s and 1930s, as well as the British writer Rudyard Kipling.
Here is a lightly edited reading of what she wrote.
Again, she's about seven years old.
There was some cool shade on the porch, so I sat down, and soon I was asleep in a strange way.
Like clear-cut stereopticon slides, I saw 12 scenes flash before me.
Each one held until I had seen it well in every detail, and then be replaced by another.
There was no continuity as in an average dream, just disconnected scene after scene with blank spaces in between.
I knew that they were all true, a preview of things to come, and my soul writhed in agony and shrunk away.
But I knew there was no shrinking.
These things had to be.
So when I left the porch, I left a great deal behind me.
I was weighed down with a power I did not want.
I had knowledge before its time.
I knew my fate.
I knew that I would be an orphan and homeless.
I knew that, while I was still helpless, that the comforting circle of my family would be broken and that I would have to wander, cold and friendless, until I had served my time.
I would stand beside a dark pool of water and see a huge fish move slowly away, at a time when I would be somehow in the depths of despair.
These visions would return at irregular intervals, sometimes two or three nights running, sometimes weeks or months apart.
I had no warning.
I went to bed and they came.
The details were always the same, except in the last picture.
Once or twice I saw the old faceless woman standing outdoors beside a tall plant with that same off-shape white flower.
She turned suddenly from it to welcome me.
I knew what was going on in the house without going in.
It was all so familiar to me.
Time was to prove the truth of my visions for, one by one, they came to pass.
As soon as one was fulfilled, it ceased to come.
As this happened, i counted them off one by one and took consolation in the fact that one more station was passed, thus bringing me nearer the end of my trials and nearer to the big house with the kind women and the strange white flowers.
Years later, after the last one had come and gone.
I read a sentence or a paragraph now and then in the columns of OO.
McIntyre, which perhaps held no meaning for the millions who read him.
But I could see through those slight revelations that he had had similar experiences.
Kipling knew the feeling for himself, for he wrote of it very definitely in his Plain Tales from the Hills.
So I took comfort in knowing they were fellow pilgrims on my strange road.
I considered that my real childhood ended with the coming of the pronouncements.
I love learning about Zora Neale Hurston's visions because, while nothing like her vision has ever happened to me, it reminds me of how mysterious the world is.
And now we're going to take a short break.
Cooler days call for layers that last, and Quince is my go-to for quality essentials that feel cozy, look refined and won't blow your budget.
Think 50 Mongolian cashmere, premium denim that fits like a dream, and luxury outerwear that you can wear year after year.
These are the pieces that will turn into your fall uniform.
I have several of the Quince cashmere sweaters.
My favorite is I have a deep red, and then I also have a beautiful green.
And you know, I love having color and I love having anything that's soft to the touch.
These are two of the staples of my wardrobe.
I'm eyeing their wool coats.
They look designer level, but cost a fraction of the price.
And the quality is just as good, if not better.
You know, I love Quinn Scratch.
Yeah.
Find your fall staples at Quince.
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There is one thing that all people on earth have in common.
We move through the world in a human body.
Bodies ache, they bleed, they desire, they hold the stories of our lives.
International Planned Parenthood Federation, or IPPF, is sharing some of those stories from around the world.
Read them now at IPPF.org slash everybody.
Gretchen, you and I both love Whole Foods Market.
It's fall.
I am trying to entertain more and I love to go to Whole Foods Market for entertaining or just for my everyday needs.
The 365 by Whole Foods Market brand always has great quality at great prices.
Plus, you can shop low price everyday items in the store and online with convenient pickup and seamless delivery.
Right.
It's the combination we all want, which is really good prices and also really good quality products.
They have hundreds of yellow low price signs that make it easy to save without compromising the quality and ingredient standards that you expect from Whole Foods Market.
Yes.
Gretchen, you know I'm not much of a chef, but I do know that when I go to Whole Foods I can figure out something good to offer my guests that I can be proud of.
Enjoy so many ways to save on cozy fall meals at Whole Foods Market.
A very famous and helpful fable is the story of The Scorpion and the Frog, which apparently was first recorded in Russia.
It's very similar to one of Aesop's fables, the story of The Farmer and the Viper.
Now, in this version of the story, a scorpion is sitting on the bank of a river and needs to cross.
Because it can't swim, it asks a passing frog to carry it on its back across the water.
The frog hesitates and says, ah, no, you'll sting me.
The scorpion says, oh no, I wouldn't do that, because if I sting you, we'll both drown.
So the frog is convinced and agrees to the arrangement.
And halfway across the river the scorpion stings the frog.
Why did you do it? gasps the frog.
I couldn't help it, says the scorpion.
It's my nature.
This fable has more than one interpretation, but here's my take.
When you see a creature that's clearly menacing and with destructive powers, protect yourself.
And don't allow persuasive words to convince you to put yourself in danger.
A scorpion is a scorpion.
No matter what argument it makes or what the situation is, in the end, it's still a scorpion.
One of my favorite secrets of adulthood is the opposite of a profound truth is also true.
This is a mysterious and powerful aspect of human nature.
I want to accept myself and expect more from myself.
I want to think about myself so I can forget about myself.
I want to use my time efficiently, and I also want to take time to wander and play.
An aspect of this secret of adulthood is the ancient idea that sometimes something goes so far in one direction that it circles back on itself in a kind of union of opposites.
Because I've thought a lot about this.
I was struck by a particular passage from the essay American Goth from the collection Take the Cannoli by American historian, social observer and writer Sarah Vowell.
In it, Vowell is describing her encounter with goths.
She writes 'Goths for those unfamiliar with this particular subculture, are the pale-faced, black-clad vampiric types with forlorn stares framed by raccoon-eye makeup'.
The name derives, of course, from Gothic, a style, according to my dictionary, emphasizing the grotesque, mysterious and desolate.
Val explains that she'd always admired the Goths, and she went in for a private lesson in Goth.
Yes, she got a Goth makeover, led by someone with the nickname Mary Queen of Hertz.
And here's the passage that I love.
Vowel writes When I was pondering a good goth name for myself, I paged through my reference books on death and dying, looking for something gruesome.
Nothing felt right.
Maybe it's because I came of age in the 80s, and I've seen blue velvet too many times.
But to me, the really frightening stuff has nothing to do with ravens and rats.
The truly sordid has a sunny, waspy glow.
Therefore, I tell them, the most perverse name I can think of is Becky.
It turns out that by saying the magic word Becky, I have suddenly moved to the head of the class goth-wise.
As Monique put it, you are understanding the pink of goth.
You've skipped a couple levels and went straight to pink.
And in fact, there is a term in Urban Dictionary pink goth, which is a person who is so completely goth to the bone that they don't need to wear black.
It's one of my favorite secrets of adulthood.
The opposite of a profound truth is also true in goth and in so much else.
I have to say, I'll never hear the name Becky the same way again.
It's funny how a single detail like that can change your perspective.
And I think that's part of why I'm drawn to these unsettling stories.
They invite us to face the truths that we'd perhaps rather avoid.
Sometimes looking straight at what's dark or strange can help us feel a little lighter and a little happier.
Maybe that's the real Halloween lesson.
Sometimes the scariest thing is pretending the dark stuff isn't there at all.
Thanks for listening and happy Halloween.
From the Onward Project.
Hi, Gretchen, Craig Robinson and my little sister Michelle here.
We host a new podcast called IMO with Michelle Obama and Craig Robinson.
We know you're the queen of giving advice.
So we wanted to get a few tips from you.
Gretchen, a lot of our listeners are going through some major life changes.
What advice do you have for folks who are trying to stay grounded in the midst of major life transitions?
Craig and Michelle, I am so happy to be talking to you.
Here are a few questions that might help us gain perspective.
So consider questions like this.
What activities take up my time but are not particularly useful or stimulating for me?
Do I spend a lot of time on something that's important to someone else but is not very important to me?
If I could magically change one habit in my life, what would I choose?
And here's a question.
Would I like to have more time in solitude restorative solitude or would I like to have more time with friends?
You know, just thinking about questions like this can help us start to figure out how we might make our lives happier.
With greater self-knowledge, we're better able to make hard decisions that reflect ourselves, our own nature, our own interests, our own values.
In my own case, I have found that the more my life reflects my nature, the happier I get and the more grounded I feel when I'm going through a period of major change or transition.
For more great advice, search for IMO with Michelle Obama and Craig Robinson wherever you get podcasts.
You can listen to Issa Rae on letting go of certain friendships.
Kiki Palmer on why disappointment is actually the key to career success.
Seth and Lauren Rogan on caring for aging parents. and so many more.
