I used to be able to complain with the best of them, though only those in my inner circle got the full-throttle version of gripe. Most of the rest of the world saw me as a “sweet” and “bubbly” person, and that was long before my last name was a wine. I started noticing how gross I’d feel after complaining or letting off a spew of negativity. Once I started complaining about complaining, I figured something needed to shift. It turns out that something? Was me.

Case in point: That annoying bird that I cussed out in my head for waking me up at 5:30 every morning this past spring - I mean seriously, my toddler lets me sleep in later than that - I shifted to appreciating being awoken by nature sounds instead of alarm clocks, city noise, or a screaming child. It felt much better giving a mental "good morning" to the bird rather than a mental "f*** off". (It is noteworthy that I don't actually speak in asterisk. Also, the bird has since moved on to someone else’s yard, thank you very much. A 7:30am wake-up time suits me much better. I told you my toddler lets me sleep in.)

I’m not interested in the brand of happy that gets put on along with my makeup. Gone are the days when I use a smile as cover-up to hide all other emotions, because the other emotions? Aren’t flaws after all. I get mad and bratty and bitchy and sad like everyone else, and if you’re even the slightest bit observant, you’ll know what I’m feeling by looking at me. But most of the time, when you look at me, you’ll see a bright pair of dancing eyes looking back at you, because most of the time, I find joy in life.

My go-to Pandora stations are Sinatra and Bublé, and I typically start listening to Christmas music in October. I prefer carry out to cooking - as does my husband, thankfully - and dessert to drinks. When I do occasionally imbibe, of course I order a Moscato.