Armed with my memory of the park’s busy and not-so-busy areas, a map, and a backpack; with no small hands to hold, no diapers, no sippy cups, no snacks, no tears, no whining, and nobody’s bathroom schedule to manage but my own, I figured I’d run laps around the Magic Kingdom and Epcot. The only thing I was worried about? All those families.

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For a while I believed that I could find a four-leaf clover on command; if I stopped long enough to look, I’d find one. And it held true for many years–I stopped counting the number I’d found, but considered myself a kind of shamrock savant, tucking this obscure skill away with other party tricks like remembering the birthdays of everyone I’ve ever known or (depending on how late the party went) proving I could still do the splits.

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“It’s not about being happy – that’s a different thing,” my instructor explained that first day of January. “Santosha means finding contentment with what is happening right now, even if it’s hard or negative.” But what if “what is”, you know, sucks?

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