“Don’t worry. Be happy.” Yes, that’s easy for Bobby McFerrin to say. He turned it into a hit song. The rest of us hit snooze three times, check our phones and immediately regret being alive before coffee.

Still, happy people exist. You have seen them, possibly even before noon. So, what’s their deal? I’ve narrowed it down to five traits. Brace yourself — some of these may require effort. Or worse … self-awareness.

1. They smile … a lot. They are not just “camera smile” people. Not just “someone said cheese” people. These folks are smiling in line at the grocery store. At 7 a.m. On a Monday. It’s unsettling but also kind of impressive. Meanwhile, the rest of us look like we are auditioning for a documentary about mild disappointment.
2. They have a “thing” that keeps them sane. Prayer. Meditation. Music. Nature. Deep breathing. Screaming into a pillow. Whatever works. Happy people have figured out how to hit pause on life’s chaos. The rest of us? We just keep hitting refresh and wondering why everything still feels chaotic.
3. They don’t overdo the bad stuff. Food, alcohol, scrolling, shopping, complaining — pick your poison. Happy people somehow know when to stop. This is deeply suspicious behavior. You are telling me you can eatONEcookie? Just one? Are you OK?
4. They avoid gossip. Yes, apparently some people hear juicy information and keep it to themselves. Wild concept. Happy people don’t need to dissect other people’s lives for entertainment. They have got their own lives to enjoy. Imagine that — being busy living instead of narrating someone else’s drama like it is a reality show.
5. They know happiness isn’t automatic. This might be the most annoying one. Happy people actuallyworkat it. They choose perspective. They process tough stuff. They look for good things even when life hands them a flaming bag of nonsense. And, somehow, many of the happiest people have been through the worst, which means they are not ignoring reality — they are just better at dealing with it. As McFerrin put it, “In your life, expect some trouble.”

So, here is the bad news: Happiness isn’t magic. And, here is the good news: It isn’t reserved for those mysterious morning people either. We can all get there. We just might have to start with one radical step: Maybe, don’t hit snooze tomorrow. (OK, let’s not get carried away.)

Have a happy Friday, and thanks for reading.

Most of us have questioned the need for the penny — and not quietly. At this point, finding one feels less like luck and more like spotting a triple-yolk egg: technically possible, but are we sure it’s worth the excitement?

We now know it costs more than a cent to make a penny, which feels like the financial equivalent of paying $5 for a $1 bill. So, aside from the old “Find a penny, pick it up…” jingle — which, let’s be honest, hasn’t improved anyone’s luck since 1987 — there’s really no reason to bend over for one. If anything, we’re just preparing ourselves for a future where everything that costs $9.95 magically becomes $10.

My own introduction to this harsh economic reality came early. As a kid, I proudly approached a vending machine with a fistful of pennies, ready to make a life-changing investment in sugar. The machine rejected me. Repeatedly. I wasn’t happy. The vending machine operator, somewhere out there, probably still isn’t either.

The nickel, though — now there’s a coin with some dignity. Solid. Dependable. No ridges. No nonsense. It’s the cargo shorts of currency: practical, underrated and easy to find without looking. And yet, like the penny, it is drifting into irrelevance. “Nickel candy” is now a historical phrase, like “rewind the tape” or “be kind, please rewind.”

Then there’s the dime — tiny, slippery and apparently committed to disappearing at the worst possible moments. It is the only coin that can vanish while you’re actively holding it. As a teenager in the 1980s, my friends and I discovered an important social truth: If you ask someone for a dime, they will just give it to you. No questions. No paperwork. No Venmo request. Ask for a quarter, though, and suddenly it is a loan negotiation. Try that experiment today, and you’ll hit a bigger problem: No one has cash, let alone a dime. The evolution from dime stores to dollar stores tells you everything you need to know about inflation — and optimism.

And then we have the quarter. A big jump, both in value and confidence. Why 25 cents? Why not 15? Or 20? At some point, someone just said, “Let’s make it a quarter,” and everyone else nodded like it made perfect sense.

The quarter also doubles as entertainment. My friends and I once turned it into a game: Trace a circle around a quarter on paper, and then challenge people to roll the coin off their nose and land it inside the lines. What they don’t realize is they are also drawing a lovely graphite racing stripe down their face. It’s a game of skill, deception and mild embarrassment. And, yes, the ridges matter. This is not a job for the smooth, overconfident nickel.

So, sure, pocket change may not buy much anymore, but it can still teach life lessons, start strange experiments and, occasionally, decorate your face.

Try getting that from a credit card.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital newsletter
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

For many of us, a good night’s sleep isn’t as easy to come by as it was when we were younger. Back then, if I slept late, my kind father would just smile at me and say, “You must have needed it.”

At this point, I would like to formally announce: I still need it. I’m just no longer eligible to receive it.

We all seemingly need more sleep. So what actually helps you drift off? And what keeps you wide awake at 2:17 a.m., replaying a conversation from 2008 like it is breaking news?

At our house, the nightly standoff is the ceiling fan. I want it on. My wife wants it off. I like a cool breeze, a little white noise, the feeling that I’m sleeping inside a wind tunnel. She prefers a calm, silent environment where objects aren’t moving. We compromise by doing it her way. And then we discuss it again the next night

Temperature is another issue. I sleep best when the room feels like a refrigerated warehouse. Jolene sleeps best when it feels like a lightly toasted bakery item. She wears wool socks to bed in July. Not “it’s a little chilly” socks — full commitment, winter-in-Canada socks. I’m one blanket away from seeing my breath; she’s considering a space heater.

When we had a dog, we didn’t need an alarm clock — and we definitely didn’t sleep in. He was up at 5:30 a.m. every day, ready to eat, start the day and ensure no one in the house achieved their full sleep potential. He also adjusted instantly to daylight saving time, which feels like a personal attack. The rest of us are wandering around the house three days later like time travelers who didn’t stick the landing. The dog? Right on schedule. Every time. Show-off.

Then there are the birds. Mourning doves are named appropriately because they wake you up and immediately give you something to mourn. Every. Single. Morning.

And if you have Canada geese nearby, you already know they are not birds; they are organized noise. Their morning honks don’t say “good morning” — they say, “This is our neighborhood now, and we have opinions.”

Of course, your phone can wake you up, too. Alerts, notifications, mysterious dings at all hours. If this e-newsletter is what gets you out of bed at noon, then you clearly don’t have a sleep problem. And I am relieved to know that we rank somewhere below “angry goose” on your annoyance scale.

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital newsletter
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

Rush. Hurry. Urgent. A couple hundred words tell us to get moving. The dictionary is full of them, and so are we. But why are we always in such a hurry?

When I was fresh out of college at my first job in Des Moines, I would debate whether to take I-235 or Grand Avenue to work from my West Des Moines apartment. That was like choosing between a punch in the face or a kick in the kidney. Neither was appealing. Neither was predictable. But what was predictable was that I would wait until the last minute to leave, then drive in a panic to avoid being late. Not exactly a great way to start the day.

Eventually, I learned something simple: leave 30 minutes earlier. Avoid traffic. Arrive with a smile. Get a head start on the day’s tasks. Revolutionary.

The ride home was no different. Cranking a Red Hot Chili Peppers CD probably didn’t help my stress. And, as a young, single guy in the early 1990s, what exactly was I rushing for? A game of darts with my roommates? A re-run of “Cheers”? A trip to the car wash?

Years later, I met newly retired Joe Weeg, a former Polk County prosecutor who is now a CITYVIEW columnist, at our Des Moines office. I walked in our conference room to meet him with my yellow pad and pen. He laughed.

“I remember rushing from one meeting to another, taking notes on those yellow pads,” he said. Then, with a smile, he offered, “Now all I rush for is another cup of coffee.”

Retirement slows some people down. Others just choose to stay in a hurry. Always.

A Georgian proverb says, “He who is in a hurry always arrives late.” And a bumper sticker I saw recently read: “Go ahead and pass me. I left on time.”

The solution to all this hurriedness? It’s simple. Start earlier.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital newsletter
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

Hands in the air, fingers slightly shaking upward, a smile on his face — that’s how my friend Dion Higgins would answer any chiropractic question, along with the words: “It’s all in the hands.”

On the rare occasions I ever set foot on a golf course, it was usually with him. When I smacked my club into the ground with a pathetic swing, he would give my wrists a quick adjustment so I could try again.

As a chiropractor, Dion loved his work. He was good at it, too. But nearly 13 years ago, a 21-year-old driver crossed the center line, and both their lives were taken. No amount of medical care could fix that.

I think of Dion often, especially when hands come up. Looking at my own now, I notice the changes: wrinkles, scars, misaligned knuckles, arthritic joints. Dion could do a lot of magic, but he couldn’t turn back time.

When I was younger, I would look at older people’s hands and wonder how they aged so suddenly. Now I look at my daughters’ hands and see smooth, unmarked skin. What happened?

My younger years were full of days pounding nails, pouring concrete and pitching manure. Wrestling and coaching for decades also took their toll. My fingers and wrists bear the marks.

I’m convinced you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. Ask a palm reader. Your heart line, your sun line, your fate line, your life line, your head line. It’s all in the palm of your hand.

Palm reading, or palmistry, is “the art of analyzing the physical features of the hands to interpret personality characteristics and predict future happenings,” according to Allure.com. Hands are “portals that shed invaluable insight,” the article says, offering a beginner’s guide to reading them.

I don’t know much about palmistry, but I’ll give it a try. Because now, more than ever, I believe Dion was right. It’s all in the hands.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading. 

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital newsletter
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707