While walking back through the cold backyard to the house the other morning, I noticed how I was thinking ahead to that warm cup of coffee I would make when I got inside. The next pleasant thing.

Years ago, when I was a heavy smoker, the first thought that came into my head when I woke up each morning was that first cigarette. The next pleasant thing.

I stopped in the backyard to give it some thought.

This was just a bit too much like "I'll be happy when" thinking. I'll be happy when I marry Prince Charming. I'll be happy when I get a raise. I'll be happy when I have that next smoke. If I put too much interest on "the next pleasant thing", do I consign my happiness to that future time?

What about now?

I stopped thinking and looked around. It was barely dawn. I could hear Shadow, the golden retriever, barking on the farm next door. The sparrows were at the feeders; I could hear their voices quarrelling in descant harmony. The air felt cold on my cheeks. Snowflakes held their intricate shapes for a while on the sleeves of my fuzzy coat before they melted. In that moment, life was more than merely pleasant. It was a celebration.

The anticipated pleasure of coffee still gave me a lift. But it was no longer occupying my attention. My good cheer didn't depend on it. The pleasure of right now trumped the next pleasant thing.

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