Blog Posts by Gretchen Rubin

I'm still obsessed with the four categories I've developed-which, for lack of a better name, I'm currently calling the Four Rubin Tendencies.

These categories describe how people tend to respond to expectations: outer expectations (a deadline, a "request" from a sweetheart) and inner expectations (write a novel in your free time, train for a marathon).

To learn more about the Four Rubin Tendencies, read here and here. In a nutshell:

I'm still working on refining these types, and I'd love to hear what you have to say about the following questions. Obviously no one would answer all these questions,

I've been continuing to ponder the abstainers vs. moderators distinction.

In case you haven't been breathlessly following this line of argument: in a nutshell, when facing a temptation, abstainers do better if they abstain altogether, while moderators do better if they indulge a little bit, or from time to time.

The other day, a friend who is a true moderator told me, "I got a sundae from my favorite ice cream store, and it was so, so good. But after the tenth bite or so, I could hardly taste it anymore. I had a few more bites, then it turned into a puddle, and a friend of mine finished it for me."

To me, this is a very foreign way of acting. The difference between my friend and me made me wonder if this is a distinction between abstainers and moderators, and I'd love for you abstainers and moderators out there to weigh in on this question.

Moderators, does your desire often diminish as you eat? Does it drop off in intensity? Or have you not noticed this phenomenon?

People often ask me, "Come on, what's the key to happiness? If you had to pick one thing, what would you say?"

I think that question can be answered in several ways, depending on what framework you use.

But one answer would certainly be-self-knowledge. It's the Fifth Splendid Truth: We can build a happy life only on the foundation of our own nature.

But it's surprisingly hard to know yourself! So how can you sneak a glimpse into your own nature?

You can ask yourself: Whom do I envy? What do I lie about? The answers to these questions reveal the way in which your life doesn't reflect your values.

You can ask yourself: What did I do for fun when I was ten years old? You'd probably enjoy as an adult a version of what you enjoyed as a ten-year-old.

You can ask yourself: What do I actually DO?

You can ask yourself: Who are my patron saints? (A "patron saint" is a saint who has a special connection to a person, place, profession, or activity, or in more casual terms, a

I love Secrets of Adulthood, fables, teaching stories, koans, and paradoxes-or anything that smacks of paradox. For instance, I get a big kick out of the page of my bank statement that reads, "This page intentionally left blank." No, it's not blank. It has that notice printed on it!

As I've worked on my happiness project, I've been struck by the contradictions I kept confronting. The opposite of a profound truth is also true, and I often find myself trying to embrace both sides of an idea:

I'm a fanatical reader of children's literature, and one of my favorite authors is Laura Ingalls Wilder. In fact, Happier at Home's conclusion-which I think, in all modesty, is one of the best things I've ever written in my entire life-centers on the last few sentences from Little House in the Big Woods.

A thoughtful reader suggested that I might enjoy Little House in the Ozarks, a collection of the pieces that Wilder wrote for regional newspapers and magazines. Heck yes! I got my hands on a copy right away.

I found much that interested me, and I was particularly struck by one paragraph.

Happiness interview: Lisa Takeuchi Cullen (@lisacullen).

I met Lisa through a writers' group; oh, how I love to belong to groups. She's a woman of many writing talents-journalism, fiction, TV-writing (in fact, did a pilot for CBS this season)-and I couldn't wait to read her new novel.

And it doesn't disappoint. Pastors' Wives is utterly absorbing, and a fascinating look at a particular world, and several engaging characters. I couldn't put it down.

Happiness is a major theme of the book, so I was very curious to hear what Lisa had to say.

Gretchen: What's a simple activity that consistently makes you happier?

Lisa: I talk to my sister every day on the phone. We're twelve months and two weeks apart in age, and growing up we shared a bedroom, Jordache jeans, and AquaNet hairspray (but never boyfriends…that would be weird). After college we roomed together in New York City, and after we got married, we bought houses eight miles apart in New Jersey. But with kids and

I have a friend who has started a new course of healthful eating. She told me, "This time is different. I've struggled with my weight my whole life, I've been on a thousand diets, but this time I'm changing my eating habits for good."

I think many of us have had a similar experience, when we've thought: "This time is different," "Something just clicked," "I see the light," "I have to do this now." For me, this kind of realization often takes the form of, "At last, this is the approach I've been looking for."

Here are my questions for you:

Have you had this experience? If so, with what aspect of your life?

Did it turn out to be true that "this time is different"?

Did change come gradually or suddenly?

Did the change stick with you, or did you drift back to your former behavior?

If you did drift back to your former behavior, how long did the change stick? Did it leave any lasting marks?

(If you want more questions for self-knowledge, read on here.)

I love dividing the world into categories. Abstainers and moderators. Radiators and drains. Leopards and alchemists. Marathoners and sprinters (formerly known as "tortoises and hares"-I like this terminology better, how about you?)

I've come up with a new distinction, but I'm still turning it over in my mind. I'm not sure it works out…I would love to hear your response.

A conversation between two friends, at my children's literature reading group meeting, inspired me to notice this.

One friend said, "I always want to feel empty," and a friend responded, "I always want to feel full." (They were speaking metaphorically.)

I thought this was just about the most interesting pair of remarks that I'd ever heard. I wasn't able to pursue this conversation at the time, but I plan to.

In the meantime, it got me thinking: is this a distinction?

Does one group-I'll call them the simplicity lovers-prefer to have less, subtraction, emptiness, bare surfaces, few choices,