Brianna Walker

The cold air rushed through my helmet, smelling of pine and snow with just a hint of exhaust. There is just nothing like a snowmobiling trip with the family. This was our first trip this year, and we almost didn’t go because of me. We’ve been so busy lately, and I was tired — the thought of finding all our gear and packing food seemed a lot less fun than a board game and a nap!

But an article I’d recently read, entitled “Tips for a Happier Life,” kept niggling in my mind. The article suggested that since so many Americans are already discouraged with the direction our country is headed, rather than making grim new year’s resolutions like losing weight or budgeting, instead we take deliberate aim at bringing a spark of joy to our little sliver of the world. The author’s ideas for these sparks of joy included:

• Bring a Smile to Others: Make a deliberate effort to bring a smile or laughter to another person every day. This could include anything from acting goofy in front of a grumpy kid to paying for the groceries of the frazzled mom behind you in line.

• Keep a Gratitude Journal: Write a line or two every evening before you go to bed about something from the day that you feel grateful for or blessed by. This can redirect your attitude at the end of a bad day, and can help you focus on the little joys that may have otherwise been overlooked.

• Unplug: Going for a walk? Leave your phone. Running to the store? Leave your phone. Those devices are little stress boxes of dopamine dispatchers. Shut them down and enjoy some peace.

• Send “Just Because” Notes: Spreading cheer to others is one of the fastest ways to bring joy to yourself. Choose one friend each month and tell them why you appreciate their friendship or talents.

• Get Outside: Experts say that getting outside improves our mood.

• Build a Snowman: Don’t let the busyness of adulthood stop you from reliving the simple joys of childhood.

That last one finally got to me. I didn’t want our “busyness” to lessen our joy in life. It took a bit to find everyone’s snow gear, make sure the kids’ stuff still fit and find alternatives to the stuff that didn’t. But finally we were on the road. I read aloud a few chapters in our current book, and in no time at all we were pulling into the sno-park.

Soon we were flying over meadows of snow, pointing out animal tracks and enjoying the beautiful blue sky, and I could feel my inner child bursting with song — or perhaps that was actually me singing in my helmet — but thankfully our helmet comms hadn’t been charged, and I’ll neither confirm nor deny!

We covered a lot of terrain, even taking in some new scenery from our usual route. As the sun started to sink down into the valley of fog below, I was so glad we’d chosen the mountains over a nap. As I was mentally counting my blessings, we rounded the corner to see — a snowmobile with the hood up, a tipped-over gas can and two dejected-looking guys all in the middle of the trail.

We stopped, and they told us their tale of woe. One of their snowmobiles had overheated, they’d used all their bottled water trying to keep it cool, and they’d left it 6 miles back down the trail. And the other was nearly out of fuel. We went back to tow their other sled and began the slow trek back to the sno-park.

Had this been a Hallmark movie, we would have towed the men to a beautiful log cabin to warm up. Where they would have met a couple of lovely women — and their unfortunate breakdown would have been the cause of their happily ever after.

But this wasn’t Hallmark, and the sun was setting; the darkness bringing hail and wind. Then our littlest stopped in the middle of the trail. I assumed his throttle thumb was hurting, but no — he also had run out of fuel. We found a little strap, and soon we were making slow progress through the dark. The strap was too short to go very fast, which meant that my husband was soon out of sight. Our trip was made even slower because my snowmobile overheats at slow speeds. We’d drive a bit, shut it off, pack the tunnel with snow, and repeat. My husband, meanwhile, was also having quite the experience. The other sled was so heavy it ripped the tow bar off the back of his snowmobile, and their other working sled quit.

Hours later, when we all finally made it back to the sno-park, we were sore and hungry — but our moods were surprisingly joyful. We had made a deliberate effort to bring a smile to someone else, we had got outside and unplugged, and we were grateful for warm socks and tow straps. We hadn’t built a snowman — but we felt the magic of hard-earned sore muscles and the joy of finding adventure in every pothole. As the new year unfolds with all its joy and tears, may you spark a simple joy in your life and create a sliver of happiness for the people around you.