How to Be Happy EVERYDAY

By J. P. Godsey and Dennis McCafferty

He scored off the chart on every objective measurement tested. As Charlie Brown and the ""Peanuts"" gang told us, happiness could be a warm puppy, pizza with sausage, five different crayons - or anyone, or anything, that's loved by you. And, although it's true that many special moments are inspired by such happenstance, scientific research contends that people actually can condition themselves for genuine happiness, much as occasional joggers condition themselves for marathons. Truly happy people are able to, for example, recall special moments and use them as psychological tools to deal with adversity. And that's just one of many skills they tap into to ensure a high level of satisfaction in their lives. So why is this important? Because it's clear that happiness is a key contributor to our overall personal health - it's even been linked to longevity, scientific studies show. With that in mind, USA WEEKEND Magazine hatched what they called the Ultimate Happiness Challenge: Why not pair the world's leading authority on happiness with America's happiest person and see if their expert can make him even happier? Or, on a more scientific level: How can the leading expert apply his core principles to boost the happiness quotient for someone who's already as happy as a person gets? Explore the happiest man in America's state of contentedness and, as a result, discover ways we all can better cultivate happiness in our lives. As for the happiest man in America, J.P. ""Gus"" Godsey, he's a story in himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Apr 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781630476205

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

By J.P. Gus Godsey Selected The Happiest Man In America by USA Weekend magazine

Well, by now you have heard the Mr. Happy story. I will share a bit about my background. This is the bottom line.

I am sure there are happier people out there; I just don’t know many. I know that I have been blessed. Somehow, I have been able to compartmentalize things in my head. I put the bad things aside, or the things I cannot control, and do not spend any time worrying about them. Make a choice, first thing — on what kind of day this will be, count your blessings every day, control the Controllables, give more than you get, stay away from negative people and gossip, and smile...It really is not much deeper than that. Trust me...don’t try to make it any harder than that. There has been much said and a great deal of research done trying to make this more difficult. I guess that’s cool, but it ain’t me.

I’m second-generation Swedish on Mama’s side. Mom’s name is Doris Mathilda Sandquist. My grandfather, and then later my grandmother, came over on a boat through Boston. They had 14 kids. Mom was the fifth from the last. They lived in a two bedroom house, two stories high, on 5 Abbot Street in Concord, New Hampshire. Think about that for a minute.

My dad’s (Paul James Godsey) family was all from Indiana. They were a Heinz-57 variety family, a lot of everything, including a chunk of American Indian. We have always been proud of being part American Indian.

My folks married in 1945. We lived in Indiana where my dad coached. They had my sis, Sue, in 1955, P.J. in 1956, and me in 1957. Just think, married for 10 years, no kids, and then Bam-Bam-Bam. That’s a wake-up call.

My dad was not very original. He called my brother P.J. (Paul James) and me J.P. (James Paul). He envisioned us as a pitcher-catcher tandem. I got my nickname Gus when I was 2 years old from my Uncle Dick. He told my dad there was no way he would pump his ego by calling both of us after him, so he started calling me Gus. It stuck. Actually more people call me Gus than J.P.

My parents split in 1961. We moved to Lancaster, Pa., and lived with my Aunt Middy and Uncle George who had 11 kids of their own. We moved two years later to Rockland and Dauphin Street about 15 minutes away. I was 4 or 5. This was borderline ghetto. We were the only white kids in the neighborhood except for two buddies of mine who were Russian.

We spent four or five summers in Indiana with Dad. Those were always very emotional comings and goings. Dad would come to Pennsylvania to pick us up in June and bring us back in August. I remember not wanting to go, heck, I was probably only 4. I ran and hid in an upstairs closet, crying. Dad had to come pick me up and put me in the back of the car, a convertible. Dad was smooth. He got us ice cream about a mile or two down the road so the tears on my cheeks soon turned into a sticky chocolate glaze. I was happy