Recently, I was traveling and found myself in a hotel where a skin care company was holding a conference. I stepped into the hotel elevator, and a couple squeezed in just before the door closed. Ten seconds into the ride, the woman said to me,
“I can help you with those bags under your eyes.”

She then handed me her business card.

Ouch! The door opened and I exited without responding to her. Now I do realize, when I am over-tired, I can carry around undereye puffiness. I am always open to trying new products for this, but her sales delivery during a 30-second elevator ride was not going to win my interest or business.

In that micro moment, her comment clouded my entire day. I felt self-conscious. ​I looked in every mirror that I passed to see if my eyes looked that bad. I battled all the unkind thoughts I was thinking about her. I fixated on that one negative micro moment. I allowed it to take away my joy.

Our lives are made up of micro moments.​ Seconds that add up to minutes that add up to hours, days, years, and a lifetime. Most of the time, we are looking at the big picture of our lives. Are we successful in our job? Are we fulfilled in our retirement? Are we happy with our relationship?

When we look at it in this broad spectrum, we miss the micro moments. Let’s bring it down to that level. The moment a stranger smiles at you. The moment of finding a lost $20 in the pocket of an old sweatshirt. The unexpected phone call from a friend. The first snowflake of winter or the first sign of a tulip in the spring. These micro moments of joy can become lost in the bustle of our lives. We walk right by them on our way to building that big picture of our life.

But wait, we notice the negative micro moments. These snippets of time can instantly deflate our mood and lodge in our mind, ruining our entire day. The burn of a curt email. The car that cut in front of you on the way to work. The computer glitches when the internet temporarily goes out just as you are ready to send an email. And yes, an off-hand comment in an elevator that hits as a criticism.

These small negative moments are often magnified in our minds, creating a much larger impact than they deserve and spirals us into the darkness of negativity. A negative moment holds a much stronger emotional meaning to us than a joyful one. It becomes personal.

To get life back in balance, we need to give more meaning, more attention, and more power to the micro-moments of joy. The glimmers of happiness that happen all around us. The fleeting bursts of positivity add texture to our days.

We need to flip our attention from the negative moments and be mindful of the positive moments. We need to reframe our perspective and reframe our thinking to search out the micro moments of joy. When you are looking for the small moments of joy, you will find them, and the negative micro moments will not matter.
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                                                         Pennie’s Life Lesson:
                               Shift your focus from negative moments to the
                        small moments of joy that truly shape your happiness. 
                                        ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ​

Do you remember your favorite high school class? What made it your favorite? Was it the teacher, the classmates, the subject, the time of day, or something else?

For me, it was my sophomore year, and I took a Humanities class. I will admit that at the time I did not know what that word meant. It was in a group of elective classes, and I needed to pick one.

I am guessing the description for the class looked something like this:
HUMANITIES: Exploring Human Culture
This course provides an introduction to the major ideas, artistic movements, and literary works that have shaped human civilization. Students will study a variety of disciplines, including history, philosophy, literature, music, and visual arts, to gain a deeper understanding of cultural development and human expression. Through reading, discussion, and creative projects, students will explore themes such as individual identity, ethical dilemmas, and the role of the arts in society.

I had already taken fun electives, like photography, interior design, and art, so I thought I would take a chance on humanities. After all, it seemed a bit off the beaten path of math and science (not my favorites), and I liked the idea of ‘creative projects.’ I was all in.

I received the syllabus on the first day of class. I was pretty intrigued by the areas we were going to study, but I stopped at the date scheduled to visit a funeral home. What? Nope. No way. I was sure I would be home sick that day.

Every day in class I was increasingly intrigued with what we were learning. It is interesting what stays embedded in our minds. I can’t tell you the teacher’s name, but I remember the concepts we learned and the day at the funeral home. At 16 I had only been to one funeral home. It was a deep memory of being with my grandmother when I was about four. During a shopping day she took me to a visitation. I remember walking by the casket and seeing a woman lying in it. I will never forget her bright red lipstick and the uneasy feeling I had.

That feeling came right back to me as our class walked through the door of the funeral home. I remember the discussion while we were there. It was about death and the process of grief. Our guide then took us downstairs to a room filled with display caskets. I thought it was so odd. Assorted colors of wood. Different linings. Different chrome and gold handles. I am not sure I took a breath the entire time we spent in that room, but I do remember deeply breathing in the fresh air when we left the building.

That semester in Humanities class made me think. For years I thought about how we are all connected as people. How music and art play a deep role in history and the culture of time. How communication connects human to human – no matter how the communication happens. And that day at the funeral home left me thinking about life- how we arrive, how we depart, and everything in between and after.

I had no idea that one Humanities class would be so interesting and impactful.
It spurred questions and critical thinking to continue throughout my life. I have experienced and carried with me personal journeys through grief, which have taken me to many funeral homes. I have a degree in Communication because I believe everything that happens in life (good and bad) comes down to communication. I feel deeply that all humans are connected. I believe if we hurt, others feel our pain. It shaped my values and beliefs. It spurred my compassion and empathy for others.

I had no idea all of this would play out so profoundly in my life. The word humanity is from the Latin humanitas for "human nature, kindness.” Humanity includes all humans and refers to the kind feelings humans have for each other.

We all should take a refresher course in Humanities.
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                                                   Pennie’s Life Lesson:
                                         When the world feels off balance,
                   look for humanity- kindness, and compassion for others. 
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My best friend’s mom bought me my first pair of jeans and they saved my life. Well, it seemed like it at the time.

As a military family, we were living in California when the Air Force gave my dad orders to go to Thailand. While my dad was in Thailand, my mom, brother, sister, and I moved from California back to South Dakota where we would live after my dad’s time overseas.

I was in 7th grade and I wasn’t unhappy about the move. California wasn’t my favorite place to live. Even though I had adapted to the California way of dressing- the wide-legged high-waisted pants with bold colors of stripes or plaids that cascaded over my white socks and platform shoes, I never really fit into the California lifestyle. I was anxious to move back to South Dakota.​ A place I remembered happily living years before.

We bought a new house in my old neighborhood. I was excited to go to school and I hoped that I would find old friends. I didn’t. Everything was different. Or maybe it was all the same, but I was different. Wearing my flashy pants and platform shoes was far from the style of this place I had returned to. The style was jeans. Only jeans. And not white socks. I was called a sosh.

I struggled for a few weeks until my best friend convinced her mom to take me shopping. She bought me my first pair of Levi’s. Tight Levi’s. Lay-down-on-your-back-to-zip-them-up tight. I was thrilled! I wore them every day. Day after day. They were long enough that they covered my platform shoes and I​ convinced my mom to buy me new socks that weren’t white.

My new look must have worked. The jeans saved my life. I made it through the rest of junior high and high school without being laughed at or called a sosh ever again.
I became an expert on keeping up with the kind of jean brands that were in style. Back then it was Levi, Lee, or Wrangler. Now, all these years later I am feeling lost in the world of denim. I don’t have a clue what kind and style of jeans I am supposed to be wearing.

I made it through the bell-bottom era and reluctantly adapted to skinny jeans. That took a while, but I did learn to love, love, love skinny jeans.

Now I don’t know where I fit or what is right for me to wear. There are more brands than I can list. There are skinny jeans, straight-leg, bootcut, wide-legged, bell bottom, flare, and boyfriend jeans.

Once you pick one of those, then you must decide if you want high-rise, mid-rise, or low-rise. And what color do you like? Dark denim, navy, mid-wash, light wash, stone wash, acid wash, faded, indigo, … And they aren’t just blue jeans anymore. They are black, white, teal, pink, and any color you can imagine.

Do you want them normal length, ankle, petite, cuffed, stacked, capri?
Then don’t forget the choice of vintage jeans, patchwork jeans, embellished jeans, distressed jeans, and various tummy control and stretch jeans.

And the price can range from $10 at discount stores to close to the price of a weekend away at an Airbnb. 

I could go on with this game, but you see where I am going. How do I know what is right for my life, my style, my age and shape? It is overwhelming! Shopping for just the right pair of jeans is an adventure of fear and determination. I will admit that I have given up the search more than once.

Last week I walked out of my closet wearing (what I thought was) a pair of cute teal jeans. My husband chuckled and told me they looked like pajama bottoms. They are currently in the donation bag. I am beginning to feel the insecurity of being a 7th grader again and wondering if people are whispering about me and if I did a social media “fit check’ I would be a bit off.
Is there anyone out there that has the answer to this dilemma?
It just might save my life!
                                    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 
                                                      Pennie’s Life Lesson:
                                                  Sometimes less is better.
                                   More choices can create more confusion. 
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​YOUR TURN...        
Share your thoughts and experiences relating to this post in a comment below.  And please feel free to email me  at:
 [email protected]. 
                                                                 Thank you!  ​
                                      ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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                             This was written and produced by Pennie Hunt.
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Whenever I visited my mom, the battle would begin. She was always cold. Even though she would wear layers of clothes, and I would gift her with lap blankets, sweaters and jackets, she was never warm enough. She kept her thermostat set to 80 degrees. Year round- 80 degrees.

I understood that aging brings slower circulation, slower metabolism, thinner skin, and the loss of ability to generate enough heat to be comfortable. I was sympathetic to this – hence the gifts of lap blankets, sweaters, and jackets.

Visiting my mom was like being in a sauna you couldn’t escape from. I couldn’t argue enough to persuade her to bump it down a bit. My mom was a tiny four-foot-nothin little powerhouse of a woman who wasn’t afraid to stand her ground. There was no compromise. She wanted it set where she wanted it set. That was that—​ end of conversation.

So, the silent battle would begin.

Every time I walked down the hallway, I would stop at the thermostat and inch down the number to where it was tolerable for a human to survive.
Every time she walked down the hallway, she would bump it back to her sweatbox number of 80.   

We didn’t talk about it, we didn’t scold each other, we didn’t even make eye contact. We just slyly changed the temperature back and forth. Back and forth.

I look back on those days with humor in my heart like I am remembering a Sunday night sitcom on TV. I wish my mom was still here to battle with, but I​ ​realize that the ​Battle of the ​Thermostat didn’t end with my mom. It has become the same in my home.

My husband and I are rarely at the same climate-controlled body temperature. I can become overheated while cooking in the kitchen, and he can be chilly sitting in a chair reading. I like to sleep with the windows open and a ceiling fan on, and he likes to snuggle under layers of blankets, closed windows, and no fan. In the summer, I freeze if the AC is too cold, and he likes the house to feel like a meat locker.

The silent battle has begun.

We have this fancy thermostat that can be controlled on our phones. I can sit in my home office and inch the temperature up or down to where it is tolerable for MY idea of human survival.

He can sit in his reading chair at the opposite side of the house and adjust the setting to his comfort level. We don’t talk about it, we don’t scold each other, we don’t even make eye contact. We just slyly change the temperature back and forth.

I am pretty sure this is a common family battleground. After all, we are all different ages, shapes and sizes and have different set points for our preferred temperature of comfort. I am certain that even with our work families, there are varied opinions of what the desirable heat and AC adjustment should be.

Recently I noticed two new warriors in our ​Battle of the ​Family ​Thermostat. Our dogs. Zenee just turned 8 and loves to sleep on her back to cool off her tummy and lay her head on the cool wood floor. Gracie just turned 9 and insists on wearing her lightweight coat in the house and sleeps with her paws tucked under her as if she is freezing.
They don’t have their own phones, or the four-way battle would begin. Our thermostat would probably blow up!
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                                                 Pennie’s Life Lesson:
                            None of us feel life at the same temperature. 
​                                          ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sometimes I hear a concept that forces me to think. A thought, a phrase, a word that makes me ponder about how it relates to my life and mistakes I have made.
I was with a group of friends talking and someone said,
“It is hard to tell when help isn’t helping.”

Woah. ​Let that settle into your brain for a minute. How many times in life do we think we are giving help, but it really isn’t helping?

When my children were learning to walk, I was terrified that they would fall and bump their heads on the corner of my coffee table. I would hover over them as they took their wobbly steps and caught them right before they lost their footing. I thought I was helping, but the reality is, when they fell, they learned how to get back up on their own. Their balance improved. Falling was a lesson they needed to learn.

When they were school-age, I could have been considered a helicopter mom. I would run the lunch box or homework to school when it had been forgotten and left on the kitchen counter. Was I helping them or keeping them from learning the consequences of their forgetfulness? Maybe one day of missing lunch, or a zero on an assignment would have taught them not to forget the next time.

It took me parenting my 3rd young adult before I learned this valuable lesson… I would see things I felt he needed to do differently and give my advice on how his life should be lived. Of course, I would write a check to fund the steps needed to carry my advice through. I thought I was helping, but I was keeping him from making his own decisions, living his own life, and making his own mistakes. It took a few years (and a lot of checks) before I realized if I stopped giving advice, I would stop writing checks. I can’t say this any clearer – When you stop giving advice, you stop writing checks!

There have been times in life when family members and friends have formed a relationship with someone, I didn’t feel was a good match for them. Expressing those thoughts didn’t typically change their feelings for the person. Relationships will work out, or not work out, in time. In the process, lessons are learned. In most cases, it is better to be an outside observer and watch the process. Telling them what you feel about the relationship doesn’t help.   

In life, there is something to be said for letting a man be a man and letting a woman be a woman. We all need to feel empowered to get up when we fall – even if we bump our heads in the process. Falling is painful, but it teaches us how to get back up. We learn how to be resilient. People need to stand on their own feet and walk their own paths.  

We will all have setbacks when we make a poor decision, lose money, or find ourselves in the wrong relationship. A bad decision has consequences, but it creates a foundation for better decision-making in the future. Losing money is painful but teaches an appreciation for earning more and self-respect for paying our own way. Relationship breakups hurt but it teaches us what we don’t want in a future long-term relationship.

From the outside, it is difficult to watch a friend or family member go through these lessons. It is easier to step in with advice, proposed solutions, and financial support to correct the failures. But… are they failures? Maybe they are stepping stones in their path of life. Lessons they need to learn to become stronger. Experiences they need to have to become the person they are meant to be.
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                                                  Pennie’s Life Lesson:
                                  It is hard to tell when help isn’t helping.
                                    Sometimes what you think is helping
                            hinders the intended path of someone else’s life.
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