In Arlington, Va. there is no shortage of places to get a pedicure. While we lived there, my beloved mother-in-law and I had a favorite one, in Shirlington just next to the Cake Love bakery. One day while my two children were sleeping, we left them in my husband’s care and snuck off to have our toenails painted. 

I consider pedicures a sacred time of girl talk — the more private, the better. We had been having a lovely visit, and I hectored Suzanne to share many of her life stories with me.  I was asking her question about her youth, and her brothers, and her parents. She was very receptive, telling me stories of Florida and North Carolina in the 1940s and 1950s and talking about her parents marriage and how young her brothers were when they died. 

In front of her home of more than 40 years,  Suzanne’s face exudes warmth and love.

I turned to her, over the fumes of the paint and the ministrations of the pedicurists, and asked how she always managed to be so cheerful despite a complicated life. She looked quietly resolved, and said, “My parents were unhappy people, and I decided at a young age that was not going to be my route in life. I chose happiness. I choose it every day.” 

At the time, I protested and doubted. I’ve read self-help books, I know about The Secret, I’ve heard all about the power of positive thinking. But a smart, kind, loving woman like my mother in law just declaring that she chose happiness seemed … well, crazy. 

I pointed out unhappy times in my life, and how they precluded joy. I emphasized that sadness and exhaustion make it impossible to decide to be happy. I argued that she must be unhappy many times — maybe even RIGHT NOW. She smiled, serenely, and said it was a decision she made that served her well. 

At this point we were at the drying rack, where our toes were being warmed. We put on our flip-flops and walked gingerly to the car. The toenail polish stayed on for months. 

In the years since, I’ve chosen unhappiness again and again. I’ve dwelled on slights, and I’ve inflicted more than my share. And I still think that I’m partially right — that you can’t just ‘choose’ happiness, and that dwelling on sadness is one way to exorcise it. 

And then I see Suzanne, and see the love and joy she exudes in a quiet, thoughtful, generous way. And I wonder. One day a year or so, just to see how it feels, she inspires me to choose happiness. And for that, and for Suzanne, I’m thankful.