Tag Archives: happiness

How Michael Franti Saved My Marriage

Many years ago, when our relationship was just a young bud, I took The Hubby to the Byron Bay Blues Festival. I’d spent many years at music festivals of all different kinds, as a performer and a punter. I loved them. I loved music. I’d spent most of my twenties and thirties playing in bands, touring and recording. Now I was working in radio. Festivals were still on the agenda but this time I was usually presenting an outside broadcast or interviewing musicians.

The Hubby had spent most of his twenties and thirties in a very different world. A world of aircraft carriers, trackers, Orions and uniforms. Sure he liked music but his tastes were formed by the mainstream and restricted by what was available on board or at the base.

Bluesfest was an ear opening experience for him. I dragged him from one must-see, or must-hear, to the next. I was in heaven. The Hubby was not. He became decidedly downcast. He didn’t know any of the acts, he’d never heard of them and what he heard he didn’t like. I couldn’t believe it.  Here we were, surrounded by the best music in the world and he was unhappy, dejected, out of place.

I thought dancing together might cheer him up. Another disaster. When I’d played bass and then rhythm guitar in bands  I’d always sat just behind the beat. I liked to stretch out the rhythm into a relaxed lope. The Hubby, perhaps due to the military bands and all that marching, sat right on the beat, or even just in front, always vigilant, always aware. Our dancing became an awkward, wordless struggle. We were clumsy together and became impatient with each other.

In the meantime the kind of bloke I used to go out with was circling. A three-quarter boy with a lopsided grin, a cigarette and a pair of drum sticks. Yep, yet another muso. Charming and shiftless but talking a language I understood. The more The Hubby struggled with the sounds he was hearing, the more I was tempted to stray. Back to the world of talking crap and hanging out, of being surrounded by a pack of wise-cracking musicians strutting their stuff. The world I used to live in. The life I left behind. The pull back to that louche existence was strong in this time of doubt.

I looked at The Hubby and saw a stranger. The man I loved, the honest, soulful, wise and funny man, was gone. I couldn’t see him. Instead a saw a grumpy, rhythmless lump. A millstone. I wanted to be free. Free to enjoy the kaleidoscope of music, free to dance to my own beat, free to indulge in the sonic feast spread out before me. Free of my husband.

And then Michael Franti came on stage.

The Hubby stopped frowning. His body loosened up. There was a hint of a smile on his lips.

‘I like this man,’ he said. ‘I can understand every word he’s singing. His message is great. He has something worth saying. And I like the music.’

The Hubby nodded his head in agreement with Michael Franti’s words. The nod became a smile, the smile became a dance.

I stopped frowning. I loosened up. I began to smile.  I reached for my husband’s hand. If this man could love Michael Franti, I could love this man.

We were back. Back in alignment. Back in love. All thanks to Michael Franti.

Ten years later The Hubby and I were at another music festival. Michael Franti was playing. I said to The Hubby, ‘Let’s go check out his sound check, before the crowds get there.’

We sat on the grass in the natural amphitheatre at the Woodford Folk Festival. Michael Franti gave us, and the other ten or so people who’d had the same idea, a private concert. We danced, we cheered, we clapped, we laughed. And then he came down from the stage in his bare feet, walked over to the grass and sat with us for a chat and an acoustic song. It was magical.

And did I tell him the story of how he’d saved our marriage? You bet I did. He looked askance at first. Unsure of where the story was heading. But when I got to the end there was laughter and hugging. Lots of hugging. “Everybody gotta hug somebody at least once a day.”

Thank you Michael Franti, the man who saved my marriage.

Above is the song he sang on that magical afternoon. If you listen closely you can hear The Hubby and me singing along.

 

 

Right or Happy? What Would You Choose?

2015-02-24-nARGUMENTlarge-thumbThe first time my husband and I argued it was terrifying. I thought it was the end of our relationship.

I’ve done a lot of meditation so during the argument I knew I should walk away, sit outside and observe my breath. It is a good tool, however it doesn’t solve anything. And in this case it just made my husband angrier.

“You just can’t hide away and meditate,” he said. “We have to talk about this.” I wished he’d go away so I could keep meditating. I was happy when I was meditating. I didn’t have to deal with anyone else and their points of view and their big voices. But unless I’m going to become a hermit (tempting at times), then I need to learn how to deal with disagreements.

What I’ve found? It really works to just listen to the other person. When my husband wants to vent I let him and I don’t take it personally. I usually know it has nothing to do with me. It’s his opinion and he’s entitled to have it. He might want to blame me for something, that’s okay. It might have been my fault, it might not have. If I’m able to observe my thoughts and emotions, to keep breathing and not get all caught up in the heat of the moment and keep listening, things usually go okay.

Arguments and disagreements are going to happen. They’re part of life. And the most important step to repairing them is to hear the other person’s perspective and to let them know you’re really listening. To respect their opinion. And naturally they need to do the same for you. We’re not being doormats here.

OK, so that’s what happens in an ideal world. What happens in the real world is that you get scared, upset, angry and most of all you want to be right, you want to win. When someone I respected, who was helping me sort through an issue, asked me, “Would your rather be right or be happy?” I said “Right of course. It’s important to be right. If I’m right then I am happy. I get the best of both worlds. I am right and I am happy.”

She looked at me as if I was an alien.

It’s taken me many years to work out that having to be right all the time was making me miserable and lonely. That most people don’t want friends who put more importance on being right than they do on being happy. Old grumpy-pants self-righteous me might have thought I was right. But it felt all wrong.

In an argument, take a breath, listen and ask yourself, “Would I rather be right or would I rather be happy?” Then, remember, that sometimes, you might prefer to be right, and that’s okay too.

Get your free copy of Mary-Lou’s Seven Tips For Your Best Relationship Ever

The One Big, Not-So-Secret Secret of a Happy Relationship

Love on a MountaintopRelationships. They’re a source of endless joy and angst. We might be deliriously happy for a while, but then the gloss wears off and we’re stuck with reality. Most people get into relationships expecting they’ll feel better about themselves and their lives when they have someone to love them. We will meet the man or woman of our dreams and they will fulfil us, be our everything and we’ll both be deliriously happy for ever.

When that’s not the case, what do we do? Often, we blame the other person. The thinking might go like this: I don’t feel fantastic anymore, so it must be the other person’s fault: they’re not good enough, good-looking enough, rich enough, smart enough. A solution? Move on. The next relationship will bring all the things I need. And many people chase the high that new “love” brings.

Another solution might be to stay in that relationship because, very conveniently, we now have someone else to blame for everything we don’t like about our lives. If it wasn’t for them and all their flaws, our life would be wonderful. Love promised a perfect life, but I still don’t have enough money and have no friends. Life didn’t deliver. It’s all their fault. How convenient not to have to look at our own stuff and stuff-ups. Those arguing, bickering, bitter couples are all locked into the blame game. Are we too afraid to say “What’s my part in this? Why do I feel so unhappy? What can I do to change this?”

Being in a relationship that works means asking all those questions of yourself and then doing something about them. A something that doesn’t involve running away, getting divorced and making all the same mistakes in your next relationship. In short: Own your own crap. If something annoys you in your relationship, look at your part in it. Then look at why it annoys you. It’s your responsibility. It’s so easy to blame everyone else for everything. I know, I spent most of my life doing it.

My husband called me on it early on in our relationship. I hated him for it at the time, because it meant I really had to look at why I always played the victim. Sometimes I want to be weak and helpless and have someone else to blame for everything that’s wrong in my life. But if that’s true, where does it leave me? What can I learn or improve from that position of helplessness? Playing the victim may feel easy at the time, but it’s a cop-out. In the long term, it kept me stuck and miserable.

Now when I feel bad and I want to blame him, I have the tools to turn it around, knowing and really understanding that I am responsible for my own misery and my own happiness. I take him out of the equation and own my own crap. He can’t do anything about my crap and I can’t do anything about his, but to the best of our ability we don’t dump it on each other. That, my friend, is the one big not-so-secret secret of a happy relationship. Own your own crap. And do something about it so you don’t feel crappy.

There is one proviso: If he or she ever physical assaults you, even a “small” hit, that is not your crap. That is not your fault. That is definitely their crap. And grounds for divorce.

Get your free copy of Mary-Lou’s Seven Tips For Your Best Relationship Ever

Before You Start That New Year’s Diet…

cakeThe festive season is a strange conundrum. First we’re encouraged to go to lots of parties, eat too much, drink and generally over indulge. Then suddenly it’s as if someone hits a switch. Magazines and newspaper life style lift-outs start wagging the finger and tell us that the good times are over and we must pay for all the excess. Instead of recipes for the perfect chocolate pavlova, the best Christmas pudding and the most impressive cocktail, we’re instructed in ways  to remove the undesirable poundage that the pavlova, pudding and fluffy drinks have deposited on our thighs, waists and chins. It’s like getting your first credit card statement of the year. New Year’s resolutions become abound as the fun times fly out the window.
I was tempted for a few seconds once by a seductive little New Year detox number that promised to clean out my system, get me in to my old jeans and supply me with the perfect life all within the space of 10 days. However when I read what I was expected to eat, or more importantly not eat, I came to my senses. I realised that 240 hours of sheer misery was too much to endure, even for the promised perfection at the end of the torture.
Let’s face it. Diets aren’t about reaching your healthy goal weight.
Diets are about reaching your goal happiness, your goal size smaller than your best friend, your goal boyfriend, your goal life and best of all –  your goal envious looks from other people. Diets are about being suddenly slim and glamorous, they’re about swanning around in sports cars and being lusted after by movie stars. Wouldn’t we all be deliriously happy, content and rich if only we were just a little bit slimmer?
I’ve waded through the sure-fire kilo-dropper starvation plans and the swathe of Celebrity Diets. There are only two things I’ve read that have made any sense. One was a famous singer saying that the only way to lose weight was to eat less and exercise more. The other was a famous actress telling us not to believe other actresses who say they eat whatever they like and stay stick thin. She said that she, like the rest of them, was hungry all the time.
 So when the over indulgence of the first part of the festive season turns into the cold light of a New Year, I don’t allow myself to be harangued into a life of deprivation. Thanks to a few honest celebrities I now know that people who are slimmer than me aren’t morally superior beings who live incredibly fulfilled and fascinating lives with their perfect partners. They are just people who are a bit hungrier than me.