My mother thinks I push myself too hard. “Why do you work, cook, clean, look after four children, and walk your dogs every day?” she asks. My answer is always the same: this is modern life. But when she asks me if it makes me happy, I tend not to answer. Can you ever make yourself happy? Can anyone teach a stressed-out mother of four how to be happy?
I’m here at Wellington College in Berkshire on a damp Sunday evening to find out. I am being allowed to sit in on one of the first “happiness classes” that the school is running for parents of its pupils. Since 2006, when Dr Anthony Seldon, the master of the college, announced that happiness was to become part of the weekly curriculum, what actually goes on in the tutorials in wellbeing and positive psychology has been privy only to the students who attend the £9,000-a-term school.
The introduction of the classes caused something of an outcry. There were those who thought it a waste of time for a school that prided itself on its intellectual prowess. However, Seldon fought back, pointing out that his course – devised with the Institute of Wellbeing at Cambridge – would help children struggling with the pressures of exam-orientated schooling and league tables. Now, many schools offer similar courses.
“There should be a wider vision,” Seldon said at the time, “in which the purpose of education is to develop all the faculties existing within each child. Education is about preparing children for life in the fullest sense. If these faculties are not nurtured at school, they are unlikely to be developed later, especially in those from poorer backgrounds.”
Four years on, Seldon clearly hopes that the new happiness lessons for parents will prove just as much of a hit as those for their troubled teens. Ian Morris, the 34-year-old teacher who runs the courses, says: “I see them more as wellbeing classes. We look at many areas – altruism, resilience, taking joy in the natural world – and hope the lessons are thought-provoking and useful.”
When I meet the 15 parents who have come for a weekly, hour-long class, they are all white, middle-class and, I suspect, all here for the same reason: curiosity.
“I’m here because I want to know what my son actually does in these classes,” says Colette Turley. Has she noticed a difference in him? “I’m not sure,” she says after a pause, “but I think anything that helps teenagers come to terms with themselves and coping with everything life has to throw at them is a good thing.”
Today’s parents class is on the theme of mindsets. We start by watching a quick – very quick – clip of Usain Bolt running the 100 metres. Morris asks whether we believe that Bolt’s ability to run faster than anyone else on the planet is due to nature or nurture. There is a silence, before a father pipes up, saying he believes it to be a combination of the two. “He must be built to run fast,” he says, “and have grown up in an environment that encouraged him to run.”
Morris nods, but then tells us that a surprising 50 per cent of the children he teaches believe Bolt is fast only because he was born that way. “They also believe that some people are born to be good at maths, for example, and that they are not. They therefore often get negative thoughts about their abilities. They think, 'What’s the point of trying at maths when I was not born to be good at it?’ I want them to see that being 'good’ at something is also about making an effort and being open to that learning experience.”
He then tells us about the work of the social psychologist Carol Dweck. She identified two mindsets that children tend to fall into: “fixed” and “growth”. Those with a “fixed” mindset often get praised for being clever – “Look at you, how clever you are!” This can result in a child only attacking problems he thinks he will succeed at.
“The child will be wedded to success and reluctant to take on challenges in case they 'fail’ and then feel stupid,” Morris tells us. “People with a 'growth’ mindset believe the more they work at something, the better they will get. They are much less likely to give up when the going gets tough.” Dweck, he says, found it far more beneficial to praise the process of learning rather than the end result.
One parent tells me her son doesn’t consider himself as academic as some of the other boys. “I think this sort of class will really help him,” she says. “He is scared of failure and sometimes I think that stops him from trying.”
The session is enjoyable, but I have mixed feelings about how effective it is. Yes, it might be useful for the parents to see just what Morris is teaching their children about this topic – and the lesson certainly made me think. But I am not sure that this alone can make people happy. “Well, maybe happiness is the wrong term,” says Morris. “It is perhaps about being better informed. It’s about provoking thought and helping their confidence, isn’t it?”
When parents start asking Morris for advice, there seems to be a gap between the theory and the cold hard reality of searching for happiness. A woman with a sleek black ponytail asks if the fixed vs growth mindset is why her child won’t do her piano practice. “She does her violin practice when her violin teacher is more scary than her piano teacher.” Morris asks how old her child is. “Ten,” says the woman. There is a silence. “She’s very young,” says Morris, “so I don’t really have an answer to that.”
At best, I find the class interesting. I am guilty, as I am sure most parents are, of offering that “Oh, aren’t you so clever?” line. It has never really occurred to me to praise the doing of something rather than the overall achievement. It also makes me realise why people feel so negative about themselves. Then again, I am not one to put happiness high on my agenda. I am just trying to survive.
Except that, as I drove away from Wellington College and saw some boys play football in the dark, I did feel oddly more capable of feeling happy. That, perhaps, is the key to being able to cope with what life throws at you.
