There’s something about hating things that makes me feel alive. I’ll see a post on X about, say, another nasty case of Jew-hatred, and I’ll get all riled up. It makes me feel like doing something. I feel useful. Sometimes I’ll even write a column.
This attachment to negative stuff is not something I’m proud of. It can happen anywhere. I’ll see something that annoys me and immediately think, “I hate that.”
Eventually, the “I hate that” moments can really add up. One day you wake up and realize, “Man, I’m hating all kinds of things. I’m feeling too alive!”
Of course I’m not alone. Anyone who is engaged with the news, as I am around the clock, and who cares about what’s going on, is bound to look at the side of the glass that is half empty.
But because I’ve been blessed (or cursed) with a high level of self-awareness, I tend to look inward and mull things over. One of the things I mull over a lot is what I should write about.
I knew I wanted to write a New Year column this week, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Because antisemitism seems to be on everyone’s lips these days, my first thought was an annual recap of the danger Jews are facing, with a hopeful twist at the end. I even had a clever headline: “The Dam Has Broken for the Chosen.”
But as I started writing, I didn’t feel very useful. Yes, this is important, I thought, but am I saying anything new or interesting? I also noticed that my mood plummeted as I wrote and figured my readers deserved better at this time of year.
Something else got me thinking about mood: I recently spent a month with my mother in Montreal and it turns out that put me in a really good mood (even after 150 viewings of “Family Feud”). I was so keen on keeping her in a good mood that the good vibes just carried me along.
My mother does like to watch the news, which can get her riled up. To counter that negative vibe, I found myself saying “I love that” over and over again. I was on the hunt for good things my mother would love.
Luckily, my mother’s house is full of things to love, and every little thing came with cherished memories.
That pretty much became my daily routine — find reasons for my mother and I to say “I love that,” from her paintings on the wall to a Youtube video of a funny French comedian to an amazing soup. She’s deeply attached to her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, so an easy idea was to name familiar names or look at photo albums, and voila, smiles would appear.
She has this ancient CD player where I would play her favorite American singer (Lesley Wolman) as well as the Mediterranean crooners she grew up with, like Enrico Macias.
When her mood was down (a common condition during Montreal winters) and I was out of mood-enhancing ideas, I would dig deep and pull a page out of Hollywood: Exaggerate and worry about the truth later.
My go-to exaggerator was that I wrote better in her house. She would beam whenever I said that. I had no clue if it was true but I knew it made her feel good. What’s crazy is that by week three, I felt it was becoming true.
When I got back to LA, the “I love that” habit had sort of kicked in and started intruding on the “I hate that” moments.
Needless to say, those “I hate that” moments aren’t going anywhere, given that the world will always supply me with more than enough bad news to hate, or at least dislike intensely.
But while “I hate that” may be what the world sends to me, I noticed something about “I love that”: If I don’t say it, no one will say it for me.
I also noticed something else — if I pay close attention and look for things to love, it can turn into a kind of love momentum. Any ordinary thing that enters my life can become a source of love: A sky, a Beatles song, an old movie, an image, a poem, a lecture, a vegan tagine, a coffee with a friend, a swim, an essay, a holiday card, an old book, a piece of challah and on and on. The more I look, the more I love.
Seriously, if you’re looking for a cool New Year resolution, try it. Wake up one day and commit to spending the day looking for things to love. It’s like a journey of discovery.
I know love is not very practical. Saying “I love that” doesn’t make me want to fix things. It doesn’t make me feel like running to write a column.
Actually, I take that back. This week it did. I was in the mood to look at the half-full part of the glass and found that it’s full of things to love. Maybe the good vibes from my mother’s living room are still with me.
I love that.
Happy 2026.
