Happiness as a choice

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A 92-year-old man was moving to a nursing home. His wife of 70 years had recently passed away, making the move necessary.

He was petite and well-poised, fully dressed each morning by eight o’clock, perfectly shaved and his hair fashionably combed, even though he was legally blind. After waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, he smiled sweetly when told his room was ready.

As he maneuvered his walker to the elevator, the care worker provided a visual description of his room, including the eyelet curtains that had been hung on his window.

“I love it!” he stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy.

“Mr. Jones, you haven’t seen the room. Just wait…”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it,” he replied. “Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time.

“Whether I like my room or not doesn’t depend on how the furniture is arranged. It’s how I arrange my mind. I’ve already decided to love it.

“It’s a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice—I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do.

“Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I’ll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I’ve stored away, just for this time in my life.

“Old age is like a bank account. You withdraw from what you’ve put in. So, my advice would be to deposit a lot of happiness in the bank account of memories!”