Light-Lifting

✧✧✧

Introduction

✧✧✧

 

A long-form follow up to May’s 14/40 Five Wisdom Biscuits about smiling.

 

✧✧✧

Outline

✧✧✧

• A Story

• Deep Shit

• About Smiles

• The Joke

• My New Workout Plan

✧✧✧

A Story

✧✧✧

 

I exercise religiously—by which I mean I’m very compassionate and affirming.

Today, I didn’t challenge myself to attempt an eight-rep back squat 5–8 pounds over my previous best.

I did five.

Good enough.

I’m not really feeling it.

 

 

✧✧✧

 

 

I decide to leave the gym a little early, which will also give me more time to attend a minister friend’s ROTB-style weekly online service he invited me to.

I gather my things and head to the bike rack.

Taryn, one of the coaches, calls out, “Hey, Brian.”

I look up.

“Smile some,” she says.

 

✧✧✧

 

I’m not in the mood.

I glare at her and force a wide, fake smile.

I snark, “I’ll have the emotional experience I’m having while I’m having it, thank you.”

I continue toward the exit.

 

✧✧✧

 

I know she meant no harm.

And, of course, none of us always say what we later wish we had.

I wish I had said, quietly and compassionately, with as little tone as possible: “Taryn, I want to apologize for the hateful look I just gave you. You didn’t deserve that. Also might I ask that, in the future, if you sense my vibe is a bit down, you ask me what’s going on? I’d prefer that to being directed to swap out my negative emotion for its opposite.”

And, then I hope I’d openly listen to her responses.

✧✧✧

Warning: Deep Shit in this Section

✧✧✧

 

Society indoctrinates us to be uncomfortable with the “harder feels.”

(The very name implies something is wrong with them.)

Moreover, “I oughtn’t feel or look sad” has metastasized into policing those who don’t appear to be shiny, happy people.

Why do we have to appear happy all the time?

✧✧✧

About Smiles

✧✧✧

 

In COVID, supermodel Tyra Banks popularized the word “smizing” (smile + eyes) to describe a smile conveyed through the eyes.

“The Duchenne smile—that’s what it’s technically called,” my BFF Diana tells me. She continues: “It’s in the eyes—the crow’s feet—and it uses a totally different set of muscles than the crap smile you gave your coach.”

To unpack my anger on my bike ride home from the gym, I called Diana and told her the whole story.

“A social, or polite, smile—the kind we see in most photographs—is all mouth, with the eyes not participating.”

 

✧✧✧

 

Later in the day, grateful for Diana’s counsel, I decide to text her my appreciation.

But before I press send, I pause.

I think about how she and I weren’t close friends a year ago.

And then gratitude opens up—not just for her talking me down after the gym—but a feeling, a knowing, a deep sense of how lucky I am to have dear friends, to live in this body, to be conscious in this world.

I sit and marvel. Just for a moment.

And then it happens: a twinkle—small at first—in my eyes, the corners crinkling.

My whole face shifts into a smile.

Real joy lights up my face.

 

✧✧✧

 

A little web-surfing later, I find people talking about how the small muscles at the corners of the eyes—the ones that indicate real joy—can be worked like any other muscle.

So let’s practice.

Do this with me for a moment.

Think of something you’re grateful for—any one thing.

Lean into how lucky you are for that.

Let the feeling of full-face joy rise.

Smize for a moment.

✧✧✧

The Joke

✧✧✧

 

The joke dawns on me as I’m writing this article.

I get it now.

The trainer at the gym—a woman whose job is to know all about muscles—has, though inadvertently, given me a brilliant exercise.

So I’m starting to “smile, eyes and all” a little more often.

✧✧✧

My New Workout Plan

✧✧✧

 

As often as I am able, and additionally, any time I see someone smile, I’ll work out those muscles around the eyes.