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The story of chicken broth to read. Dragoon

Mom brought a chicken from the store, big, bluish, with long bony legs. The chicken had a large red comb on its head. Mom hung it outside the window and said:

- If dad comes earlier, let him cook. Will you pass?

I said:

- With pleasure!

And my mother went to college. And I got watercolor paints and began to draw. I wanted to draw a squirrel, how it jumps through the trees in the forest, and at first it turned out great, but then I looked and saw that it was not a squirrel at all, but some kind of uncle, similar to Moidodyr. Belkin's tail turned out like his nose, and the branches on the tree turned out like hair, ears and a hat ... I was very surprised how it could have happened, and when dad came, I said:

“Guess, dad, what did I draw?”

He looked and thought:

What are you, dad? You look good!

Then the father took a good look and said:

“Oh, sorry, it must be football…”

I said:

- You're kind of careless! You're probably tired?

- No, I just want to eat. Don't know what's for dinner?

I said:

- Look, there's a chicken hanging outside the window. Cook and eat!

Dad unhooked the chicken from the window and put it on the table.

- It's easy to say, cook! You can weld. Welding is nonsense. The question is, in what form should we eat it? You can cook at least a hundred wonderful nutritious dishes from chicken. You can, for example, make simple chicken cutlets, or you can roll up a ministerial schnitzel - with grapes! I read about it! You can make such a cutlet on the bone - it is called "Kiev" - you will lick your fingers. You can cook chicken with noodles, or you can press it down with an iron, pour garlic over it and you get, as in Georgia, “chicken tobacco”. Can finally...

But I interrupted him. I said:

- You, dad, cook something simple, without irons. Something, you know, the fastest!

Dad immediately agreed.

- That's right, son! What is important to us? Eat quickly! You have captured the essence. What can be cooked faster? The answer is simple and clear: broth!

Dad even rubbed his hands.

I asked:

- Do you know how to make broth?

But dad just laughed.

- What is there to know? “His eyes even sparkled. - Bouillon is easier steamed turnip: put it in water and wait for it to boil, that's all the wisdom. Decided! We are cooking the broth, and very soon we will have a two-course dinner: for the first - broth with bread, for the second - boiled, hot, steaming chicken. Well, drop your Repin brush and let's help!

I said:

– What should I do?

– Here look! You see, there are some hairs on the chicken. You cut them off, because I don't like shaggy broth. You cut off those hairs while I go to the kitchen and put the water on to boil!

And he went to the kitchen. And I took my mother's scissors and began to cut the hairs on the chicken one at a time. At first I thought that there would be few of them, but then I looked closely and saw that there were a lot, even too much. And I began to cut them, and tried to cut them quickly, as in a barbershop, and clicked the scissors in the air when I went from hair to hair.

Dad came into the room, looked at me and said:

- Take off more from the sides, otherwise it will turn out under the box!

I said:

- Doesn't move very fast...

But then dad suddenly slaps his forehead:

- God! Well, we are stupid, Deniska! And how have I forgotten! Finish haircut! She needs to be set on fire! Understand? That's what everyone does. We will set it on fire, and all the hairs will burn out, and there will be no need for a haircut or shaving. Behind me!

And he grabbed the chicken and ran with it to the kitchen. And I follow him. We lit a new burner, because there was already a pot of water on one, and began to burn the chicken on the fire. She was on fire and smelled of burnt wool throughout the apartment. Dad turned her from side to side and said:

- Now! Oh, and good chicken! Now it will burn all over with us and become clean and white ...

But the chicken, on the contrary, became somehow black, all kind of charred, and dad finally turned off the gas.

He said:

- I think she somehow suddenly smoked. Do you like smoked chicken?

I said:

- No. She didn’t get smoked, she’s just covered in soot. Come on dad, I'll wash it.

He was downright happy.

- Well done! - he said. - You are smart. You have good heritage. You are all in me. Come on, my friend, take this chimney sweep chicken and wash it well under the tap, otherwise I'm already tired of this fuss.

And he sat down on a stool.

And I said:

“Now, I’ll have her in a moment!”

And I went to the sink and started the water, put our chicken under it and began to rub it with my right hand with all my might. The chicken was very hot and terribly dirty, and I immediately got my hands dirty up to the very elbows. Dad swayed on the stool.

“Here,” I said, “what have you done to her, papa?” Doesn't peel off at all. There is a lot of soot.

“Nothing,” said dad, “soot only from above.” Couldn't it be all soot? Wait a minute!

And dad went to the bathroom and brought me a big bar of strawberry soap.

“Here,” he said, “mine properly!” Lather up!

And I began to lather this unfortunate chicken. She took on a rather dazed look. I lathered it pretty well, but it lathered very badly, dirt dripped from it, it had probably been dripping for half an hour, but it didn’t become cleaner.

I said:

“That damn cock is just smeared with soap.

Then dad said:

- Here's a brush! Take it, give it a good rub! First the back, and only then everything else.

I began to rub. I rubbed with all my might, in some places I even wiped the skin. But it was still very difficult for me, because the chicken suddenly seemed to come to life and began to spin in my hands, slide and every second strove to jump out. And dad still did not leave his stool and commanded everything:

- Stronger three! More dexterous! Hold on to the wings! Oh you! Yes, you, I see, do not know how to wash a chicken at all.

I then said:

- Dad, you try it yourself!

And I handed him the chicken. But he did not have time to take it, when suddenly she jumped out of my hands and galloped under the farthest locker. But dad didn't hesitate. He said:

- Give me the mop!

And when I filed, dad began to scoop her out from under the closet with a mop. First, he took out the old mousetrap, then my last year's tin soldier, and I was terribly glad, because I thought that I had completely lost him, and he was right there, my dear.

Then dad finally pulled out the chicken. She was covered in dust. And dad was all red. But he grabbed her by the paw and dragged her under the tap again. He said:

- Well, now hold on. Blue bird.

And he rinsed it quite cleanly and put it in the pan. At this time, my mother came. She said:

- What's the defeat here?

And dad sighed and said:

- I'm cooking chicken.

Mom said:

“They just dipped it in,” Dad said.

Mom took the lid off the pot.

- Salted? she asked.

But my mother sniffed the saucepan.

- Gutted? - she said.

“Later,” said dad, “when it’s cooked.”

Mom sighed and took the chicken out of the pot. She said:

- Deniska, bring me an apron, please. We'll have to finish everything for you, would-be chef.

And I ran into the room, took an apron and grabbed my picture from the table. I gave my mother the apron and asked her:

- Well, what did I draw? Guess mom!

Mom looked and said:

- Sewing machine? Yes?

Dragunsky V. Yu.

CHICKEN BOUILLON

Mom brought a chicken from the store, big, bluish, with long bony legs. The chicken had a large red comb on its head. Mom hung it outside the window and said:
- If dad comes earlier, let him cook. Will you pass?
I said:
- With pleasure!
And my mother went to college. And I took out watercolor paints and began to draw. I wanted to draw a squirrel, how it jumps through the trees in the forest, and at first it turned out great, but then I looked and saw that it was not a squirrel at all, but some kind of uncle, similar to Moidodyr. Belkin's tail turned out like his nose, and the branches on the tree turned out like hair, ears and a hat ... I was very surprised how it could have happened, and when dad came, I said:
- Guess, dad, what did I draw?
He looked and thought:
- Fire?
- What are you, dad? You look good!
Then the father took a good look and said:
- Oh, I'm sorry, it must be football...
I said:
- You're kind of careless! You're probably tired?
And he:
- No, I just want to eat. Don't know what's for dinner?
I said:
- Look, there's a chicken hanging outside the window. Cook and eat!
Dad unhooked the chicken from the window and put it on the table.
- It's easy to say, cook! You can weld. Welding is nonsense. The question is, in what form should we eat it? You can cook at least a hundred wonderful nutritious dishes from chicken. You can, for example, make simple chicken cutlets, or you can roll up a ministerial schnitzel - with grapes! I read about it! You can make such a cutlet on the bone - called "Kiev" - you will lick your fingers. You can cook chicken with noodles, or you can press it down with an iron, pour garlic over it and you get, as in Georgia, "chicken tobacco". Can finally...
But I interrupted him. I said:
- You, dad, cook something simple, without irons. Something, you know, the fastest!
Dad immediately agreed.
- That's right, son! What is important to us? Eat quickly! You have captured the essence. What can be cooked faster? The answer is simple and clear: broth!
Dad even rubbed his hands.
I asked:
- Do you know how to make broth?
But dad just laughed.
- What is there to know? - He even got a sparkle in his eyes. - The broth is simpler than a steamed turnip: put it in water and wait for it to boil, that's all the wisdom. Decided! We are cooking the broth, and very soon we will have a two-course dinner: for the first - broth with bread, for the second - boiled, hot, steaming chicken. Well, drop your Repin brush and let's help!
I said:
- What should I do?
- Here look! You see, there are some hairs on the chicken. You cut them off, because I don't like shaggy broth. You cut off those hairs while I go to the kitchen and put the water on to boil!
And he went to the kitchen. And I took my mother's scissors and began to cut the hairs on the chicken one at a time. At first I thought that there would be few of them, but then I looked closely and saw that there were a lot, even too much. And I began to cut them, and tried to cut them quickly, as in a barbershop, and clicked the scissors in the air when I went from hair to hair.
Dad came into the room, looked at me and said:
- Take off more from the sides, otherwise it will turn out under the box!
I said:
- Doesn't move very fast...
But then dad suddenly slaps his forehead:
- God! Well, we are stupid, Deniska! And how have I forgotten! Finish haircut! She needs to be set on fire! Understand? That's what everyone does. We will set it on fire, and all the hairs will burn out, and there will be no need for a haircut or shaving. Behind me!
And he grabbed the chicken and ran with it to the kitchen. And I follow him. We lit a new burner, because there was already a pot of water on one, and began to burn the chicken on the fire. She was on fire and smelled of burnt wool throughout the apartment. Dad turned her from side to side and said:
- Now! Oh, and good chicken! Now it will burn all over with us and become clean and white ...
But the chicken, on the contrary, became somehow black, all kind of charred, and dad finally turned off the gas.
He said:
- I think she somehow suddenly smoked. Do you like smoked chicken?
I said:
- No. She didn’t get smoked, she’s just covered in soot. Come on dad, I'll wash it.
He was downright happy.
- Well done! - he said. - You're smart. You have good heritage. You are all in me. Come on, my friend, take this chimney sweep chicken and wash it well under the tap, otherwise I'm already tired of this fuss.
And he sat down on a stool.
And I said:
- Now, I have her instantly!
And I went to the sink and started the water, put our chicken under it and began to rub it with my right hand with all my might. The chicken was very hot and terribly dirty, and I immediately got my hands dirty up to the very elbows. Dad swayed on the stool.
“Here,” I said, “what have you done to her, papa?” Doesn't peel off at all. There is a lot of soot.
- Nothing, - said dad, - soot only from above. Couldn't it be all soot? Wait a minute!
And dad went to the bathroom and brought me a big bar of strawberry soap.
- On, - he said, - mine properly! Lather up!
And I began to lather this unfortunate chicken. She took on a rather dazed look. I lathered it pretty well, but it lathered very badly, dirt dripped from it, it had probably been dripping for half an hour, but it didn’t become cleaner.
I said:
- That damn cock is just smeared with soap.
Then dad said:
- Here's a brush! Take it, give it a good rub! First the back, and only then everything else.
I began to rub. I rubbed with all my might, in some places I even wiped the skin. But it was still very difficult for me, because the chicken suddenly seemed to come to life and began to spin in my hands, slide and every second strove to jump out. And dad still did not leave his stool and commanded everything:
- Stronger three! More dexterous! Hold on to the wings! Oh you! Yes, you, I see, do not know how to wash a chicken at all.
I then said:
- Dad, you try it yourself!
And I handed him the chicken. But he did not have time to take it, when suddenly she jumped out of my hands and galloped under the farthest locker. But dad didn't hesitate. He said:
- Give me the mop!
And when I filed, dad began to scoop her out from under the closet with a mop. First, he took out the old mousetrap, then my last year's tin soldier, and I was terribly glad, because I thought that I had completely lost him, and he was right there, my dear.
Then dad finally pulled out the chicken. She was covered in dust. And dad was all red. But he grabbed her by the paw and dragged her under the tap again. He said:
- Well, now hold on. Blue bird.
And he rinsed it quite cleanly and put it in the pan. At this time, my mother came. She said:
- What do you have here for the rout?
And dad sighed and said:
- We're cooking chicken.
Mom said:
- For a long time?
- Just now dipped, - said dad.
Mom took the lid off the pot.
- Salted? she asked.
But my mother sniffed the saucepan.
- Gutted? - she said.
“Later,” said dad, “when it’s cooked.”
Mom sighed and took the chicken out of the pot. She said:
- Deniska, bring me an apron, please. We'll have to finish everything for you, would-be chef.
And I ran into the room, took an apron and grabbed my picture from the table. I gave my mother the apron and asked her:
- Well, what did I draw? Guess mom!
Mom looked and said:
- Sewing machine? Yes?

Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen

Chicken broth for the soul

Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen. A 2nd Helping of CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL

Introduction

The stories that people tell each other tend to heal emotional wounds. Learn to listen to them, remember them and pass them on to those who need them. Sometimes good story more necessary for a person than food.

Barry Lopez

We have also decided to dedicate this book to Patty Aubrey, who spent hundreds of hours typing and retyping this manuscript, Kim Wiley, who read over 1,000 stories and poems in the process of writing this book, Nancy Mitchell, who spent weeks searching for authors and publishers to get the necessary permissions, and Angie Hoover, who helped throughout the production of this book. Without them, this book would not exist!

Jack Canfield Mark Victor Hansen

Dear reader!

I `m here for you. When you are lonely or feel disconnected from everyone, I invite you to share my company. If you are full of doubts and no longer remember when you felt confident in yourself, turn your gaze to my light. When you feel like your life is in turmoil and chaos, turn to my wisdom. Just as your grandmother gave the sick chicken broth to restore strength and health, so I am here to revive your soul. My tales of family and love will take you out of the caves of your loneliness. My stories of courage and resilience will strengthen your resolve.

My recipes contain a large dose of inspiration, offered by those who have faced impregnable mountains and who have conquered them and stood at the top among the clouds and stars. Your entire body will be energized and lightened as you soak up huge doses of humor as you try to share your talents with a world that needs them. Tales of champions, heroes and heroines who came before you will give you new strength on your life path and help you make your dreams come true. Great thoughts expressed the wisest people break the shackles of fear that bind you.

And most importantly, I offer you a vitamin of providence - the providence of your future, filled with accomplishments, happiness, health, prosperity, friendship and love. I am medicine for the soul.

John Wayne Schlatter

Introduction

The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.

Muriel Rakeyser

From the bottom of our hearts, we are pleased to present you new book, which contains the stories you told for the soul. These stories we hope will inspire you to selfless love, for a life filled with passions, will allow you to turn your dreams into reality with greater confidence, support and comfort you in a moment of confusion and failure, pain and loss. The book for life will become your friend, who at the right time will provide support and suggest a wise thought.

I'm only ten years old and I loved this book. It's amazing that I like her. I actually don't read much, but now I read and I can't stop.

You can own untold riches, Jewel Boxes and chests of gold. But you will never be richer than me: I know a man who tells me stories.

Cynthia Pearl Mouse

The story must be told in such a way that help is already in it. My grandfather was lame. Once he was asked to tell a story about his teacher. And he told how his teacher used to jump and dance during prayer. And during the story, my grandfather got up and began to jump and dance, showing how his mentor did it. Since that time, he has been cured of his lameness. This is how stories should be told!

As you read, tell, and listen to each other's stories, you are transformed. Stories are a powerful way to release our hidden energy to heal, communicate, express our feelings, and grow. Hundreds of readers have told us about how our first book helped them to vent their feelings, promote mutual understanding in families and friendly companies. Adults and children began to remember and tell important incidents from their lives, this happened at the family table, and in the classroom, in support groups, between friends and even at work.

The most important thing we can do to help each other is to listen and understand.

Rebecca Falls

One Pennsylvania teacher suggested that fifth graders compile their own book from touching stories that happened to them. When the book was written and compiled, it was reproduced and distributed among families, and it had a profound effect on both students and their parents.

The manager of one company wrote to us that whole year began each staff meeting with a story from our first book.

Priests, rabbis, psychologists, counselors, teachers, and cheerleaders began and ended their services and sessions with the stories in this book. And don't be afraid to do the same. People are hungry for food for the soul.

Also remember: someone needs to hear your story, it can support another person in Hard time and even save his life.

Sometimes our fire goes out, but another person rekindles it. Each of us is deeply indebted to those who did not let this fire go out.

Albert Schweitzer

Behind long years we have met many people who have rekindled our fire, and we are grateful to them. We hope that to some extent we will help to support your fire and fan it in big flame. If this succeeds, then our work has been crowned with success.

Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen

1. About love

Life is a song - sing it.

Life is a game - play it.

Life is a challenge - answer it.

Life is a dream - make it come true.

Life is a sacrifice - make it.

Life is love - enjoy it.

The best thing in human life -

these are his insignificant, nameless, dictated

kindness and love deeds,

which he himself does not remember.

William Wordsworth

Once, when I was a teenager, my father and I stood in line for tickets to the circus. Finally, only one family remained between us and the cash register window. She made a big impression on me. There were eight children under the age of 12. It was evident that the family was not rich, but their clothes, although inexpensive, were clean. The children behaved well, standing in pairs behind their parents and holding hands. The kids were excitedly talking, anticipating the joy of seeing clowns, ...

Mom brought a chicken from the store, big, bluish, with long bony legs. The chicken had a large red comb on its head. Mom hung it outside the window and said:

- If dad comes earlier, let him cook. Will you pass?

I said:

- With pleasure!

And my mother went to college. And I took out watercolor paints and began to draw. I wanted to draw a squirrel, how it jumps through the trees in the forest, and at first it turned out great, but then I looked and saw that it was not a squirrel at all, but some kind of uncle, similar to Moidodyr. Belkin's tail turned out like his nose, and the branches on the tree turned out like hair, ears and a hat ... I was very surprised how it could have happened, and when dad came, I said:

“Guess, dad, what did I draw?”

He looked and thought:

What are you, dad? You look good!

Then the father took a good look and said:

“Oh, sorry, it must be football…”

I said:

- You're kind of careless! You're probably tired?

- No, I just want to eat. Don't know what's for dinner?

I said:

- Look, there's a chicken hanging outside the window. Cook and eat!

Dad unhooked the chicken from the window and put it on the table.

But I interrupted him. I said:

- You, dad, cook something simple, without irons. Something, you know, the fastest!

Dad immediately agreed.

- That's right, son! What is important to us? Eat quickly! You have captured the essence. What can be cooked faster? The answer is simple and clear: broth!

Dad even rubbed his hands.

I asked:

- Do you know how to make broth?

But dad just laughed.

- What is there to know? “His eyes even sparkled. - The broth is simpler than a steamed turnip: put it in water and wait for it to boil, that's all the wisdom. Decided! We are cooking the broth, and very soon we will have a two-course dinner: for the first - broth with bread, for the second - boiled, hot, steaming chicken. Well, drop your Repin brush and let's help!

I said:

– What should I do?

– Here look! You see, there are some hairs on the chicken. You cut them off, because I don't like shaggy broth. You cut off those hairs while I go to the kitchen and put the water on to boil!

Dad came into the room, looked at me and said:

- Take off more from the sides, otherwise it will turn out under the box!

I said:

- Doesn't move very fast...

But then dad suddenly slaps his forehead:

- Now! Oh, and good chicken! Now it will burn all over with us and become clean and white ...

But the chicken, on the contrary, became somehow black, all kind of charred, and dad finally turned off the gas.

He said:

- I think she somehow suddenly smoked. Do you like smoked chicken?

I said:

- No. She didn’t get smoked, she’s just covered in soot. Come on dad, I'll wash it.

He was downright happy.

And he sat down on a stool.

And I said:

“Now, I’ll have her in a moment!”

“Here,” I said, “what have you done to her, papa?” Doesn't peel off at all. There is a lot of soot.

“Nothing,” said dad, “soot only from above.” Couldn't it be all soot? Wait a minute!

And dad went to the bathroom and brought me a big bar of strawberry soap.

“Here,” he said, “mine properly!” Lather up!

I said:

“That damn cock is just smeared with soap.

Then dad said:

- Here's a brush! Take it, give it a good rub! First the back, and only then everything else.

- Stronger three! More dexterous! Hold on to the wings! Oh you! Yes, you, I see, do not know how to wash a chicken at all.

I then said:

- Dad, you try it yourself!

And I handed him the chicken. But he did not have time to take it, when suddenly she jumped out of my hands and galloped under the farthest locker. But dad didn't hesitate. He said:

- Give me the mop!

Then dad finally pulled out the chicken. She was covered in dust. And dad was all red. But he grabbed her by the paw and dragged her under the tap again. He said:

- Well, now hold on. Blue bird.

And he rinsed it quite cleanly and put it in the pan. At this time, my mother came. She said:

- What's the defeat here?

And dad sighed and said:

- I'm cooking chicken.

Mom said:

“They just dipped it in,” Dad said.

Mom took the lid off the pot.

- Salted? she asked.

But my mother sniffed the saucepan.

- Gutted? - she said.

“Later,” said dad, “when it’s cooked.”

Mom sighed and took the chicken out of the pot. She said:

- Deniska, bring me an apron, please. We'll have to finish everything for you, would-be chef.

And I ran into the room, took an apron and grabbed my picture from the table. I gave my mother the apron and asked her:

- Well, what did I draw? Guess mom!

Mom looked and said:

- Sewing machine? Yes?

Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and Amy Newmark. Foreword by Deborah Norville

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Find Your Happiness

101 Inspirational Stories about Finding Your Purpose, Passion, and Joy

This edition published under arrangement with Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, LLC, PO Box 700, Cos Cob CT 06807-0700 USA.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

CSS, Chicken Soup for the Soul, and its Logo and Marks are trademarks of Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, LLC. Russian language rights handled by Nova Littera SIA, Moscow in conjunction with Montreal-Contacts/The Rights Agency

All rights reserved. The book or any part of it may not be copied, reproduced in electronic or mechanical form, in the form of a photocopy, recorded in a computer memory, reproduction or in any other way, or used in any information system without obtaining permission from the publisher. CSS, Chicken Soup for the Soul, and the logos are trademarks of Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing LLC.

All rights reserved. The book or any part of it may not be copied, reproduced in electronic or mechanical form, in the form of a photocopy, recorded in a computer memory, reproduction or in any other way, or used in any information system without obtaining permission from the publisher. Copying, reproduction and other use of the book or part of it without the consent of the publisher is illegal and entails criminal, administrative and civil liability.

Sometimes a good story is more necessary for a person than food.

Foreword

— Margaret Bowen

Everyone knows that we have the right to be happy. I remember as a child I told my irritated mother more than once that “I have the right to be happy” when I turned the house upside down. And she rightly remarked that if I want to enjoy freedom, I must immediately start cleaning! Who doesn't want to be happy? Happiness is not only better than unhappiness, it has very tempting benefits. Research has shown that life happy people lasts about nine years longer!

You may have picked up this book hoping to read stories that will brighten your day or find new way where there will be more happiness and smiles than now. One hundred and one stories in this book are specially chosen to show that there are many paths to happiness. Reading these stories will prepare you to find the path and goal that is right for you.

Some people pursue happiness, others create it. Take a look at a Margaret Bowen quote and ask yourself, “Which one is happier? The one who chases, or the one who creates? If you need a hint, look at the words of Viktor Frankl, which I hung on the wall when I was a teenager:

Happiness is like a butterfly: the more you chase after it, the farther it flies; but distract yourself, and she herself will gently fall on your shoulder.

no matter how much you tried be happy, these attempts will probably only make you angry. Don't Worry-Be Happy: "Don't worry, be happy" is a nice idea, but if you don't love life, the advice in this song won't help you. You can't just "be" happy. But digress to something else - to the fact that important- and happiness itself will find you. And what is important? I'll tell you soon. But here's the bottom line: on the path to happiness, the path itself is your goal.

It's funny that the publishers of Chicken Soup for the Soul turned to me specifically for the preface to a book about the search for happiness, because once in my life there was an incredibly unhappy period. Maybe I even had depression. The spleen so overcame me that I did not find the strength to go to the doctor. My career has come to a complete halt. My phone stopped ringing. I thought I would never work again. So what happened? Did I really wake up one day, put on makeup and jumped on television with the words: “I'm back! Put me on the air"?

Nothing like this. Instead, I pulled out the sewing machine. Having plunged into the abyss of misfortune, I found my old Kenmore, pulled out a few pieces of fabric and started sewing curtains and furniture covers. By sinking the pedal of the machine to the floor, I let go of all the aggression on these long seams. When you see the result after several hours of work - the bedspread has updated the old armchair, the curtains have made the empty room cozy - you will certainly feel the pleasure of work ... and of yourself.

That long-standing search for happiness reunited me with a forgotten passion. After all, I have been sewing, embroidering, crocheting and knitting since I was eight years old. I felt better when I dusted off the machine and remembered the pleasant hours spent sewing. Some people pursue happiness, others create it. A long-abandoned hobby made me happy quite by accident. Without expecting it, I created your own happiness.

Happiness and chance are closely related. English word"happy" - happy- comes from the Old Norse word happy, which meant "accident" or "unexpected incident." We accidentally find happiness. Like that butterfly that cannot be caught if you purposely chase after it.

Here's another secret: striving for the very best will not make you happy. For this enough "sufficient". Professor Barry Schwartz of Swarthmore College conducted a study and found a big difference between the so-called "maximalists", who go through many options in search of the best, and those who are content with little. Maximalists in their pursuit of the best earn $ 7,000 more a year, but feel worse. They are not as happy as those who have enough "normal". The choice is given to them with difficulty, they are afraid of being disappointed and therefore do not get any pleasure from the opportunity to spend more.

What can help you find your happiness? Here is my recipe.

Bless fate. Happiness is an updraft; it feeds on itself. People who notice the good in their lives become healthier, more active, and more productive, and others value them more. That would make me happy, would you? So keep an eye on what is good in your life, notice changes for the better. This approach has helped many people.

Keep in touch. Undoubtedly, connections with other people make our life richer. Happiness grows on the basis of strong bonds and trials passed together. Pick up the phone; write a message to an old friend.

Know yourself and follow your desires. To "find your happiness", you first need to know what makes you happy. Perhaps the words of the German philosopher Goethe will help you: By believing in yourself, you will understand how to live. Get out a notebook with a pencil and try to answer these questions: what is your passion? What activities bring you joy? What are you good at? What old dreams have you put off for later because they are impractical, unrealistic, “will never come true”? Forget what the skeptics once told you. Your answers will help you find a new path to happiness. The process brings no less joy than "work for the result."

Learn. The day you stop learning is the day you start dying. Of course, people who set themselves goals and overcome difficulties love life more than those who only maintain the status quo. You'll love the story of Jane Congdon, who gave up her boring career and published her first book at sixty-six.

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