Happiness Doesn’t Need a Subscription (But I Still Watch Bravo)

 The world’s gotten mighty skilled at making distraction profitable. Every platform promises “escape” in shiny high definition: Hulu, Netflix, Peacock, Prime. I’ve subscribed to ‘em all, bless my overstimulated heart.

I’ll confess: I’ve streamed everything from Hallmark to Bravo. A little I Love Lucy when I need comfort, a little Real Housewives when I need chaos (and a reminder of what not to become). In moderation, it’s fine — a little relief from the world’s noise, a quick dose of disruption for the stressed-out soul. But it’s dangerous dangling over that ditch; once you get in, it might take you a day, a weekend, or a week, to crawl out. 

You start with one episode “just to unwind,” and before you know it…the dream project you were gonna finish? Still sittin’ in the corner, lookin’ at you with judgmental side-eye. Because happiness, real happiness, comes from flourishing. And flourishing doesn’t usually come with a laugh track or three commercial breaks unless you’re a comedian or an actress. 

Distraction is the sneakiest drug there is. It numbs the ache but steals the meaning. Too much of it, and the side effects are brutal: laziness, despair, self-loathing — all the symptoms of a soul that’s been benched. 

So this is my little reminder (to myself, mostly): happiness doesn’t need a subscription. It doesn’t come from drama or perfection or the next season of anything. It’s made the old-fashioned way: from character, courage, and the stubborn choice to bloom where you’ve been battered by nature, by work, by that own voice in your head cussing you out for a mistake or two, or 2,543!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a show to turn off and a life to get back to, but I will for sure check in with you after the Great British Bakeoff. Because that’s one show that so far, is not only a balm, but the message in it is: Aim for excellence. Learn from your failures. And have a few laughs (a-lot of laughs) along the way. 

Real life, unfortunately doesn’t come with a pause button (yet, don’t give our tech overlords any ideas!) but it does come with purpose, if you’re brave enough to press play on yourself!

Friday News Dumps Are Casseroles of Distraction

Friday news dumps are casseroles of the worst sort: tossed together, hidden under a blanket of cheese, and slid onto the table with the hope you’ll be too polite—or too busy—to ask what’s in it. I don’t know who first thought it was clever to release big news on a Friday.  The idea, of course, is that by the time Monday rolls around, we’ll all have forgotten the announcement, too busy doing laundry, running the kids to games, and decorating for whatever holiday is upon us. Politicians call it “strategic communications.” I call it hiding the peas and broccoli under the mashed potatoes.

Every Friday, like clockwork, there’s a press release that says something you might actually want to know—about: budget cuts, indictments, layoffs, or the sort of scandal that comes with the word “alleged” clinging to it like dryer lint on a sock. It slips out at 4:59 p.m., just when we’re uncorking a bottle of Pinot Noir and deciding what pizza goes best with a cozy red wine.  

And yet—here’s the secret nobody in power likes to admit—people notice. Not everyone, but enough of us. Enough that the trick doesn’t feel like misdirection so much as insult. 

Now Aunt Midge will tell you the truth straight out: “Honey, if someone only talks when you’re half out the door, they don’t want you to hear them. That’s not communication. That’s cowardice dressed up in a business suit.” Because Midge believes news, like gossip, should be aired in daylight.

Friday news dumps are the equivalent of sneaking a slice of pumpkin pie cooling on the windowsill and thinking nobody’s going to notice. We notice. We always notice. The question is whether we care enough to holler about it come Monday morning. And the truth is, sometimes we don’t—which is precisely what the dumpers are banking on.

So when the politicians or corporations are feeding us casserole on a Friday night, the key is to scrap off the golden buttery top to see what kind of slop is underneath.  

October -Nature's Artistic Reminder That This Too Shall Pass

 "First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys."

So begins Ray Bradbury, and every year when I reread Something Wicked This Way Comes, I’m reminded why October is unlike any other. It’s half-magic, half-melancholy, and it always manages to tug me in both directions.

The first cool mornings arrive, and I resist them—I want to stay curled in bed, clinging to summer like a child holding the last candy from the fair. But nature doesn’t bargain. She tips her brush into fire and gold, sweeps it across the trees, and whispers, ready or not, here I come.

She’s merciful, though. Just when I’ve given up on warmth, she offers Indian Summer—those odd days when the air turns heavy and we’re sweating in October, while leaves crunch beneath our shoes. And then, as if to apologize for the trick, she gifts us pink dawns, crisp nights, the last songs of crickets before silence falls.

That’s the rhythm of it: beauty, loss, return, farewell. Nature easing us toward the bare bones of February, when winter’s charm has long since worn off. And if you need a reminder that life moves on—that nothing, good or bad, ever stays the same—just look to the seasons.

So tuck a little October into your heart. Keep it for the heavy days. The carved pumpkin grins, the scent of soup on the stove, the sharp sweetness of burning leaves, the trees dressed for their grand finale. Let them remind you: life is harsh and beautiful, chaotic and serene, but always turning. Always carrying us forward.

Happy Fall, y’all.