How to be Happy

July 23, 2024November 21, 2024 Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

While organizing my digital files, I stumbled across a document titled How to be Happy. The memory of creating that document rushed back to me and gave my heart a less than gentle squeeze.

Once again, I was seated at our Ikea table in our Williamsburg apartment, trying to grasp any sort of hold on joy. I was working in a job that made me unhappy, living in a city that was someone else’s dream home, and had lost pretty much all touch with my creativity.

The list I wrote called out the dreams, the have nots, the wants. Some items were simple such as move to an apartment with laundry access. Some were more difficult like find a new job in a creative or educational field, live by the water, or get back into writing. I’d wandered off the marked trail and was lost amid a dense forest of skyscrapers, high rises, brownstones, and warehouses- all my breadcrumbs scattered at my feet, awaiting someone to find and rescue me.

There’s a line from Trampled by Turtles’ Widower’s Heart that resonates with me every time I hear it, “New York was a rough place that treated me well.” Sometimes it makes me feel a little guilty for having wanted to leave.

I did a lot of growing up in New York. It was a haven from Baltimore throughout college and it was home afterwards. It facilitated me meeting a group of friends that I can’t imagine my future without. Though grimy, tough, and loud, New York was good to me and I will always love it deeply. It’s not home anymore, however, and I’ve got to admit I prefer it that way.

Live by the water.

We were deep into searching for a new apartment in Brooklyn in January 2020 when a home that we’d been eyeing just for fun dropped in price on Zillow. We scheduled a viewing, rented a car from JFK, and took a drive out to New Jersey just to see it. The pictures hadn’t done the view justice, an observation since echoed by every new visitor we’ve ever had.

We went for drinks at a local brewery to think the idea over knowing it would be crazy if we bought the first place we ever looked at after having looked exclusively at apartments for rent in New York. We were renters. Renters didn’t have to deal with home repairs. Renters didn’t have to pay property taxes. Renters lived in tiny apartments in Brooklyn hoping to be able to afford a miniscule view of the East River.

The idea of buying seemed more sensical as we talked and sipped, but often harkened back to but it would be crazy… right?

It all came down to happiness. While New York was good to me and Mike would never feel the need to live anywhere else, he knew, more than I did, that I’d be much happier living by the water and, as is often the case, he was right.

I am a person who puts myself last in most situations. Why? Because I don’t like putting other people in a place where they have to experience discomfort. I’d rather be the uncomfortable one. It’s fucked up, yes, but it’s true and I’m working on it. Sometimes it takes someone else looking in to notice the effect of constant self-pressure. Sometimes it takes someone else to open their mouth and say it’s ok; we can leave New York. Sometimes it takes someone who loves you a whole lot to make you feel worthy of the change you know is necessary.

So we did something crazy. We bought the first and only home we’d thought about purchasing and moved to New Jersey. We escaped living through the pandemic in New York and instead lived in a place with fresh air and quiet outside the door. I like to think that that wasn’t a terrible consolation for Mike.

My love for New Jersey has very deep roots. There was something about coming home that was instantly calming- something about the water and the moonrise and the trees. I started to write again even though I didn’t feel confident in it. Confidence comes from practice. Confidence comes from having the courage to try.

I thought I’d make a new list to stumble across sometime in the future, perhaps a more general one in case you happen to stumble across it too.

How to be Happy:

Be kind to your body. You’ve only got one.
Prioritize sleep.
Take difficult responsibilities one day or one step or one micro-step at a time.
Move your body every day in a way that works for you.
Commit to exercising good bodily and dental hygiene practices.
Don’t overspend on finances, time, and energy.
End each day with a positive thought or reflection. If you can’t think of one, look up positive affirmations online to jog your memory.
Don’t bury your emotions. Listen to them. Voice them. Address them. You feel them for a reason.
Forgive yourself for your mistakes. You are human. Erring is inevitable, but you are capable of learning and improving.
Know that change is possible, no matter how difficult.
Keep empty space on your calendar. It’s ok to say no to social engagements.
Take a break from screens. Read, go for a walk, listen to music, work on a puzzle, make a new recipe, whatever puts a smile on your face and keeps your brain occupied.
Stop comparing yourself to others. Your uniqueness is amazing and beautiful. Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t deserve an ounce of your attention.
Don’t expect the worst of people. Chances are you are harder on yourself than anyone else would dare to be.
Know that someone, somewhere loves you exactly as you are (likely lots of someones in lots of somewheres).

I hope this post helps you if you are feeling lost in the forest like I was. Your happiness is a worthy cause and it is possible. Breathe. Allow yourself to feel everything, even the difficult things. Give yourself a break. Scatter your breadcrumbs at your feet. You are capable of your own rescue.

Cozy Posts

The Way of Juniper on Berry

March 14, 2024November 21, 2024 Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

My memories of Brooklyn cloud over slowly with time, coated with the city’s grime that films over its fixtures and ghosts. The exhaust of the exhausted, the grit of the grind, the exhalation of industry. It kept me from opening the bedroom windows on Union Avenue many nights, despite the need for air as the steam heat screamed and clanged, caged within the pipes in our apartment, turning us into puddles as we slept. I’d seen that grime when I first moved to the city after college, blowing sooty mucus into a tissue and thinking, Huh? That can’t be normal.

My body got used to the city air quickly, learning to filter the mystery particles or at least disguise them beyond recognition. My muscles got used to the steps in subway stations, to city blocks, and to running. I ran a lot in the early years of living in the city, training for long distance races under the bright lights in McCarren Park, sharing lane one of the track with serious runners, stray soccer balls, and unobservant spectators. The smell of the track overpowered the scent of sweat. The green turf was grass-like enough and soothing to look at. We collected turf pellets in our running shoes and displayed them on the russet tiles by the front door in the kitchen.

We lived about a mile from McCarren Park at one point before moving to our place on Union Avenue and used to run to and from the track on training days. The nights before trash pickup were always the worst. Some people will know that it’s already suffocating to run in a sports bra, but add having to hold your breath past oozing piles of trash bags at the curb and the small heart attacks that accompany rats darting from those piled, plastic lumps and it’s really great training for lung capacity.

The air always seemed fresher inside somehow, in New York, aside from the city’s beautiful parks and green spaces. Even the musty scent of reclaimed wood and damp hops was inviting walking past the local bars and restaurants. I miss that smell sometimes, now that we don’t go for a pint or two on the regular, like we used to.

After a couple of our usual haunts closed down and transformed into one thing and then another, we discovered a great little place on Berry near Bedford Ave called Juniper. Juniper was a cozy respite from the crowded neighborhood a block over on Bedford Ave and it was BYO, something difficult to find at the time in our corner of Williamsburg. We’d pick up a six pack of Abita Amber, glance at the chalkboard specials to see if they still had the blackened chicken sandwich and the chicken pot pie. Then, the cool, quirky waiter with the untamed hair and the loud 90s sweater would come over, bopping to an internal song that didn’t match the one playing over the speakers. I remember I’d always burn my tongue on the pot pie because I was too impatient and it was too delicious. Mike would always nod in approval after the first bite of his blackened chicken sandwich. We’d sip our Abita Ambers and say, “I really like coming here.” The place made us smile and prompted conversations at every little table inside.

I remember we went to Juniper once and the lights weren’t working, but the kitchen appliances were. The staff had strung white twinkle lights in the kitchen and lit candles throughout the restaurant. They ran out of sandwich buns at one point and the owner ran out and got some more from the grocery store down the street. We enjoyed our meal in the dark alongside other Juniper devotees and respected the hustle of the restaurant staff and owner, who appeared to be having fun despite the evening’s setbacks.

One night, we were looking forward to a hearty, cozy meal at our favorite place and made our way across the neighborhood to Berry Street. We picked up our six pack before heading over to Juniper. In the distance, we saw another couple standing outside the door to the restaurant. They had their six pack too, but they did not go inside. The restaurant was dark. No lights twinkled within. The candles were extinguished. We looked on Google and our faces fell at the words Permanently Closed.

New York is like that sometimes. It will whet your appetite and break your heart. It will soot your nose. It will train and test your strength. And you’ll go on and it will remain with you in your brain, lungs, and blood. When we went the way of Juniper and left the city, I took Brooklyn with me. When we walk down Union Avenue now, we’ve been replaced in our old apartment, but it will always be ours somehow and we too will always be Brooklyn’s.

Cozy Posts · Travel

Saratoga in the Off-Season

October 2, 2023November 21, 2024 Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Last weekend, our schedule (and our little car) swept us away to Saratoga Springs, NY for a getaway with Mike’s siblings. Saratoga in the off-season is one of my happy places. I enjoy strolling up and down Broadway and perusing the shop windows and the architecture of the beautiful buildings that line the main street in town. We treated ourselves to coffee and pastries at Sweet Mimi’s and Putnam Market in the mornings, feasted on hearty meals at a few local establishments that I will go into further detail on later, and ended our nights with ice cream and fudge at Kilwins.

Northshire Bookstore called my name the whole drive up and walking into the expansive shop felt like a warm hug from an old friend. I warned the group that I would be spending a while in there and that they should feel free to continue on without me if they wanted, but sure enough, the store had something to capture everyone’s interest. I lingered around the stationary section, knowing full-well that my stationary drawer at home was well-stocked already. I just can’t help myself. Maybe it’s a writer thing, but pretty paper that I can write on is so enticing to me. I practiced restraint and reminded myself that I can enjoy the idea of stationary without buying it and bringing it home. I eyed a few Lang Folk Art Calendars that I begrudgingly accepted I didn’t need and continued on to the puzzle section, where my sense of self-control abandoned me immediately at the sight of the selection before me.

Northshire Bookstore is well-stocked with puzzles from my favorite puzzle company, Ravensburger. Ravensburger puzzles are reliable in that the pieces are actually uniquely distinct, unlike some other puzzle company products where you can’t always be sure that you have a piece in the right spot, by fit alone. Ravensburger claims “softclick technology” and they claim correctly, in my opinion as a frequent puzzler. I purchased a 1000-piece Ravensburger puzzle entitled Welcome to Banff, proud that I was able to limit myself to only one and, my friends, I can’t wait to get my hands on those blue-backed pieces once I reach a big writing milestone that is fast approaching, but more on that later this month.

Saratoga in the off-season is the town at rest after a summer of crowds flocking to its boundaries to bathe in the famed spring water spas and attend the horse races at the historic Saratoga Race Course. When we were there, the race track and baths were closed for the season and a faint chill tinged the air, floating in on a breeze from somewhere up north.

Our Airbnb sat nestled on a side street off Congress Park, opposite the park from Broadway. The house was a cozy split-level with three comfortable bedrooms and a spacious living and kitchen area. We spent our downtime watching movies and playing games in the living room, which had an unlit fireplace and a wall of white-washed, built-in shelves and we put together a 1000-piece puzzle, depicting four National Parks, in the kitchen. We snacked on takeaway treats from Sweet Mimi’s, Putnam Market, and Kilwins and sipped on the pomegranate elixir that is Saratoga Red from the Saratoga Winery.

We cut through Congress Park multiple times to go between our cozy homebase and downtown, careful not to disturb the flock of sleepy ducks that had taken up residence at a pond there. We strolled along the paved path, enjoying the views of a couple of the famed springs that had been enshrined beneath ornate pavilions by their benefactors and encrusted with orange and white mineral deposits from the ever-flowing sulfuric trickling. I much preferred the park in the daytime, but the eerie glow from the street lamps along the path at night did usher me into the fall spirit quickly. Fall spirit aside, I was happy to be walking in a group on those nighttime strolls.

We spent our evenings seeking out hearty meals and drinks at Whitman Brewing Company, Boca Bistro, and The Olde Bryan Inn, the last of which gave me the sense of walking into an American version of the cozy Hogsmeade locale, The Three Broomsticks, from the Harry Potter series.

The Olde Bryan Inn, constructed in 1832, is a tavern located on the site of Alexander Bryan’s former log cabin establishment, est. 1773. Waiting outside the stone tavern for our table to be ready, we caught glimpses of the comfortable environs within. The light glowed warm from the burgundy beam-framed windows and illuminated a first glimpse of the wooden beams and overused colonial pots and pans displayed within on the wooden walls.

Walking through the narrow entrance of the tavern, we passed the pub area, a cozy snug with a dark, wood-beamed ceiling and pewter steins hanging from their handles over the broad wooden bar. The sight made me want to order a Butterbeer, but instead I made my selection from the available, muggle offerings and opted for an apple cider mule and a roasted turkey dinner. The evening was a delight filled with lively conversation and delicious food and drink. The Hermione Granger that lives in me was satisfied.

While in town, we were sure to visit Saratoga Spa State Park, where my sister in law was determined to sample some of the springs. For all but one, we anticipated and were met with the telltale pucker that resulted from the taste and texture of the mineral deposit-laden spring water, which is said to relieve gastrointestinal ailments, if ingested, and to soften the skin, if bathed in. Needless to say, she spat the water out, although she did find one spring with a genuinely delicious output, the State Seal Spring. The water at the State Seal Spring was good, but sampling it required interrupting the constant flow of people filling 5-gallon water cooler jugs with the good stuff. Some people just can’t get enough of it, I guess.

At the end of the weekend, we said our goodbyes and departed for home, going our separate ways and looking forward to our next adventure together, wherever it may take us. A year of time and some pleasant hours of planning are all that separate us from that next reunion and I know it will be a match for how lovely this one was.

Movies · Music · Reviews & Reflections

“… Begin Again”

November 9, 2020November 21, 2024 Beth DeFries1 Comment

I just finished watching “Begin Again” again and have the film’s kick-ass soundtrack playing on my brain, the notes dancing on the goopy, textured surface in rainboot tap shoes, splashing in puddles of imaginary sound, raising drops of neon rainbow slime-matter in the dark space of my mind. Right now, this is how I envision the way I hear the music that is not actually playing. How do you “not hear” music?

To quote my mom, “Anyway…”

The movie took me on a tour of my home city of seven years, inviting me to revisit a bench I used to eat lunch on almost every day in Soho as an escape from a job I really didn’t enjoy, the stage-for-activism-and-art steps leading up to Union Sq. Park, the Washington Square Park Arch and fountain where I tried and failed to write my final Playwriting assignment in my senior year of college while visiting New York and waiting for Mike to get out of class. I was distracted by a sunny day and the ultimate people watching opportunity, my desire to write evaporating off the warm pavers, floating away from me like an escaped balloon.

I often forget how much I miss it… but I recognize how defining my NYC residency is to me that going back and revisiting old haunts evokes a nostalgia that gives me a (good – kind of?) heartburn. It also, at times, reminds me that I am missing out on unique experiences of New York City-living during these historic times, jabbing me in the ribs each time a once-in-a-lifetime experience passes me by because I wanted to and influenced us leaving.

We visited our erstwhile neighborhood on Friday and stopped “in” to enjoy outdoor experiences at some of our, once-local, establishments. We even brought some Brooklyn home with us. To-go growlers are a wonderful thing as I am – currently – pleasantly quenched with my favorite Brooklyn brew, Green Eyes IPA from Keg & Lantern Brewing Company in Greenpoint. Set in a washed up musician/producer headspace a la Mark Ruffalo in the beginning of Begin Again, I drank a couple of juice glasses of this emerald eyed elixir because I was too lazy to wash a real glass.

I am continuing a celebratory mood sparked by current events and outcomes from Saturday, November 7th, ones that washed a sense of calm and relief over most of those in my personal community. The tension and uncertainty of last week caused a lot of stress for me and for many people whom I love and since midday Saturday, that tension melted into relief, tears, smiles, cheers, and a spreading warmth of hope.

For those of you who are disappointed, I hope you will see the positive in this change and see unity, justice, and representation as possible, necessary, and important. People are born in many different forms. Some experience evolution of self during their lifetime. Some just want to have the right to love and to live without judgement, threat, or fear, and to not only feel safe but to be safe in those identities. Those differences are a wonderful thing and life would be un-recognizable without them.

I did not get to dance (you’re welcome) or swig champagne in the streets of NYC, but I sure wanted to. I am so grateful to even have had the experience to see videos, posts, and photos of individual and neighborhood-wide celebrations, of friends crying tears of joy, of my Philadelphia family cheering on their city with such deserved pride. Thank you to the wave of humanity, empathy, love, inclusion that showed up and turned out; we wouldn’t be here without you. I am ready for this rebirth. I am ready to…

Cozy Posts

The Hospitality of Cheese

August 21, 2020November 21, 2024 Beth DeFries1 Comment

Any person who has been a guest in our home is likely familiar with being greeted with a hearty, “Welcome!” and a platter or cutting board full of sliced summer sausage, neat columns or concentric circles of Carr’s Table Water Crackers, and fresh-off-the-block slices of Kerry Gold Irish Cheddar. I learned the tried and true hospitality trick of providing immediately accessible snacks for guests by growing up as part of a large extended family who held frequent family gatherings.

Hosting guests is one of my all time favorite activities, likely because I grew up with the fond experiences of being a welcomed guest and learning how to be a host from the happy examples set by my immediate and extended family. These examples just always happened to involve appetizers and plentiful beverages.

When we lived in Williamsburg, we had the fortune of hosting guests frequently. We were not usually the main destination or reason to visit New York for most of our out of town guests. No, we were usually just a stopover for a night after a flight into JFK or Laguardia or a birthday dinner, Broadway show, or holiday party, but it always felt nice to be a stop on their list.

Our railroad style apartment on Union Avenue was full of cozy character and hosted countless guests over the years, some frequent visitors, and some one time only stays. When we first saw the apartment in March of 2015, I was sold immediately, standing in what would be our kitchen for the next five years, a warmth in my heart and a tingle on my skin, not yet knowing how many happy memories were waiting to be made within the confines of its red brick walls, and honey hardwood and rust tile floors.

The brick brownstone with six units was estimated built in 1895 and some of the accents would attest to that estimation. Our large, sunlit bedroom had an old, sealed-off brick fireplace growing up the wall like English ivy and our modern stove was nestled in what used to be a brick kitchen hearth. The light wooden cabinets and laminate-topped peninsula counter added practical function and a homely, cottage appearance to the atmosphere of our space and contradicted the metropolis environment of the bustling city that surrounded us.

Our Union Avenue apartment was a place where guests knew they were welcome to a hearty snack, warm meal, cold beer and red wine in the evening, clean sheets and blankets for a comfortable night’s rest on our turquoise couch, and fresh Brooklyn bagels with a mug of hot tea or coffee in the morning.

Writing about it now makes me miss our old home so much.

We pushed up our move by a week this past March when things started shutting down left and right in the city due to the pandemic. If the pandemic had not happened, we’d have been hosting some of my cousins from California that week and taking daily adventures from a meticulously planned itinerary full of truly New York and Brooklyn experiences, things that would give my cousins memories that were unique to our city while also providing Mike and me a chance to give a proper send-off to our regular neighborhood haunts.

But the pandemic did happen.

My cousins made the decision to cancel their trip after their airline offered them vouchers if they chose to cancel and after I let them know it was probably a good idea to cancel as bars, restaurants, theaters, and visiting with our Nana and our cousin’s months old son became either impossible or too risky.

We ended up moving four days after closing on our condo. We did not really get a chance to linger in our goodbyes with our home of five years before driving away in the Uhaul and car, but maybe that is a good thing. It would have made it so hard to allow that emotion to hit me, for my gaze to linger on the nail holes in the walls where our pictures used to hang, on the shiny rectangle on the floor where our warm, multi-colored, striped, shag area rug had been, and to hear the faint echo of laughter, late night chats, Friendsgiving gatherings, and regalings of recent travels from guests just arrived from the airport.

Five months after moving to our new home, the time has finally come to christen this place as a hub of hospitality. Our pictures hang on new walls now and our turquoise couch is still the same with new neighboring furniture to get to know. We no longer have our long, red brick living room wall and brick fireplace and kitchen hearth, but I’m not ever going to complain about our expansive view of the Atlantic that we get to look upon every day. My parents are coming to visit tomorrow and will be our first overnight guests. With much improved scenery, more space to move around, and an actual guest room with four walls and a door, I have high hopes that this place will live up to the cozy memories of gatherings past, conversations shared, trips planned and discussed, and memories made on Union Avenue.

But first, I must buy some cheese.