Aristotle is still considered the greatest philosopher of personal development. He wrote many years ago that happiness depends on developing ourselves to our fullest potential and striving to be our best selves.

I’m 75 years old, and I was unhappy for at least 60 of those years.

I’m thinking a lot about happiness these days; I don’t wish to be unhappy again without reason.

I was not only not the best I could be (and am still not), but I came to see that I was nowhere near developing myself to my fullest potential, nor did I have a clue as to what that might be.

An analyst told me it was very late to undertake this much change; he had never seen anyone my age change so much or try so hard. I told him I refused to die that way.

Joan Chittister, something of a contemporary author and respected philosopher of personal development, has written that what fills the heart with happiness, ironically enough, is not what we get out of the world; it’s what we put into it.

It’s about being worthwhile, spending our lives on something useful. This, in the end, is what makes us happy. I think she is right, as was Aristotle.

That is what has made me happy.

To be happy is not to be happy all the time. Life intrudes, and life is not always offering us what we want. I celebrate the good; I accept the bad.

Happiness is not about acquiring money and other material things or cleaning up on a house sale, hating our political opposites, renovating and renovating, traveling to Europe, climbing one leader after another, or a beat and beautiful lawn, shopping for bargains online or squirreling away the vast amounts of money we are constantly being told we must have to be safe and security in a country that worships money, but not truth or mercy or service. Or Faith.

No one can tell the people who call themselves our leaders are happy people. I don’t see it.

Happiness, cautioned by Aristotle, is not about the activity; satisfaction is about virtuous action, about doing something that makes the world a better place.

When I reached this conclusion and embraced it, I found a depth and richness of happiness I had never felt before. This was a great shock to me, a transformative shock.

The people I know who do good are happy; those who spread lies and hate are not. I am learning to pity them.

It’s ironic, but when I decided this was the change I wanted, our world was almost overcome by anger, grievance, and hatred. As a public writer and blogger, I encounter cruelty and anger that I could hardly believe and had no good way of dealing with it.

If you start thinking about the people you know, you will perhaps see the same truth I saw. Think about who is happy and who isn’t. I can’t take care of everyone or anyone else. I can only take care of myself. I wanted to be happy much more than I wanted to hate or argue.

It is a choice; I have no doubt about it.

“What fills the heart with happiness,” writes Chittister, “is doing what we do best and doing it to the utmost so that having done our part in this co-creation, we can have the satisfaction that such a life deserves.” This was an important idea to me. I couldn’t demand or expect happiness. I had to deserve it.

(I believe it’s impossible to live a meaningful life without faith, even if my faith has to be in me. I carry this polished stone around to remind me when I need to think about faith.)

Six years ago, I began working earnestly with refugee students and families and with the residents of the Mansion, many at the very edge of life. This work brought me more joy and meaning than any work I have ever had.

I do that work still, every single day. It makes me happy and keeps me happy.

Aristotle was correct. That made me feel I had a life purpose other than earning money and paying my bills. I could actually do both.

For me, finding happiness did not happen instantly or with the wave of a wand. It occurred to me when I took the time to absorb the pain and take a good and honest look at myself. I didn’t like what I saw.

While I have a long way to go, I like myself much better now, which makes me happy.

What is it that makes me unique? What is it that makes me me? What is my life about? What do I want it to be about? Happiness is about learning to live.

It’s about finding my challenge and purpose and committing myself to it.

It’s selfish in so many ways, as I benefit from it as much as anyone I try to help. It is lovely to feel happiness. I am spared none of the realities of life.

I don’t live in a magical kingdom or a perfect world. But my life has meaning, and I believe in mercy, empathy, and compassion, even though I can’t always find them.

Today, an aide at the Mansion told me they didn’t have enough gloves to put under the Mitten tree, so every who wanted one could have one. They were upset; many Mansion residents don’t have warm clothing.

I didn’t have enough money in the fund, so I bought the gloves myself. They cost $200 in all. They are arriving on December 10. I felt sick today, and I had food poisoning.

When I bought the mittens, I felt like dancing. I got out of bed and went outside to take a few pictures. I felt better; my food poisoning was melting away.

Finally, I thought once more. I am happy. I have a purpose. In my small way, I am making the world a better place. And many other good people are doing good alongside me. I know they are out there now. That brushes my soul, lifts my spirits, and guards me against cynicism and contempt.

The lesson was clear.

I started paying attention to what I wanted to be and stepped outside the circle of doing and enjoying what we are told to do and doing, instead of what almost everyone around us is doing or told to do.

I will be honest and say it is lonely sometimes and difficult.  The culture around us often seems to be going another way. There is so much hatred, cruelty, and violence in the world that I sometimes feel that it will just crash over me like a giant wave.

Then I go back to a happy place. Me.