What Color Affects Your Happiness?

A personal story of inexplicable unhappiness.the cheerless city; we set out, once more, for the
Several years ago my husband and I left Newairport.
Zealand, to travel through several States of NorthBut that sense of loss and discomfort had grown
America and Mexico.much stronger and I struggled to identify its cause. I
The flight left in the early evening, flying straight outwas becoming seriously depressed, even though I was
from Auckland, leaving behind myriads of twinklingon a wonderful holiday. Whatever could be wrong? I'd
lights and dark blue velvet seas. Approximately twelveslept comfortably; so it couldn't be jetlag. I was
hours later, our aircraft descended at Los Angeles,luxuriously accommodated, so it wasn't discomfort
through a sickly soup of greyish-yellow fog. It bumpedeither.
down on the tarmac, to the kind of depressing pollutionWe moved on, flying from Cleveland to Chicago, Illinois,
for which Los Angeles is famous.where we stopped overnight, before travelling up next
Not wishing to venture outside, we collected our thingsafternoon, to Milwaukee by railroad. During the morning,
and scurried to transfer on to an earlier flight towe visited the Chicago Art Museum and I was
Atlanta, Georgia. Once clear of Los Angeles, it was afascinated to spy a family of grey squirrels, frolicking
beautiful experience flying across the United States,among the frosty, bare-branched azalea bushes in the
viewing from the windows of our plane, the movinggarden, fronting the Gallery, on Madison Avenue.
geography of a mighty country in all its beautiful colors.Next morning, as the train passed through the
We crossed the mountains, their tops gleaming withWisconsin countryside, we marvelled at the
the last of the winter's snow and flew over themagnificent German-inspired architecture of farm
chequered plains beyond. Below us, we saw thehomesteads. The spring thaw was just beginning and
mighty Mississippi River, with its many boats scurryingwhat grass we could see, still had that lifeless,
up and down that mighty waterway like ants carryingstraw-colored look, we'd noticed at all our previous
cargoes and building their nest. After sitting for a whilestopovers. Although a pale sun filtered across the
in a holding pattern, over Georgia, we eventually landedlandscape, it was still far too cold for the bare trees to
in Atlanta, an airport about four times the size ofsprout leaves.
Sydney airport.On arrival at Milwaukee, we were greeted by the
Apart from the shopping, our stay in Atlanta wassame sepia tinted landscape, as we drove to the hotel,
relatively uneventful - I did the usual tours and shopped,and I felt again, the grip of unfamiliar unease and
while my husband attended a conference. Two daysdepression. Determined to get the most out of this trip,
later, with heavier bags, we headed north on a flight toI tried to ignore these unhappy feelings. To combat
Buffalo - en route to Niagara Falls, Canada.them, I set about being busy, in an unfamiliar city.
Circling Buffalo airport five times, (something that isThe next day, on our return to the Phister hotel from a
considered exceptional over there), during which, theretour of Milwaukee, the doors of our hotel lift sprang
were several emergencies with defective landing gear,apart and a large group of women, carrying prized tiny
the crew eventually put the plane down on to thepoinsettia plants, spilled out into the hotel foyer.
tarmac. As we slewed round to a halt on theMemories of my healthy ten-foot high poinsettia bush,
snow-covered runway, the relieved Americangrowing at the front doorway of my home flooded
travellers, more aware of the emergency than weback and I felt homesick for the first time in my life. Try
were, showered the crew with tumultuous applause.as I might, I couldn't shake off the depression and
By this time, it was dark and we shivered, as wesense of loss, I felt.
emerged from the plane, to the wintry chill of minusShopping till we dropped, after seeing the sights, we
fourteen degrees. Warmed by hot coffee from thefinally pushed our trolleys through the airport, towards
airport café, we began the twenty-two mile driveour plane to Mexico City. Once in the air, we enjoyed
from Buffalo to Niagara Falls in a cab. It was thethe flight down the path of the mighty Mississippi River,
beginning of March, just around the time of the springwhich wound its way south, to the Gulf of Mexico. For
thaw, although to us it felt like being in the middle of aa while, the deep feelings of unease subsided, as our
hard winter in Queenstown, New Zealand.minds concentrated on the view below us.
The cab driver, a New York State man - born in theFive hours later, we landed at Mexico's airport, soaring
Bronx - and his non-stop humorous patter, kept usdown through a blanket of thick smog that enshrouded
entertained on the long, cold drive to the Falls.that mighty city, home at that time, to eighteen million
Fortunately, my husband had the presence of mind, topeople.
tape the conversation, so we have since enjoyedFinally emerging through the gates, we were swept
reliving that ride, many times over.into a Combi Van, in the guise of a taxi, to begin the
On entering Niagara Falls and before being dropped toride of our lives. In and out of an unending flood of
our hotel, on the Canadian side, we called to see thetraffic, our driver wove his van, hooting and screaming
tail end of the Niagara Falls evening illuminations.indecipherable oaths at other drivers, as he went.
Although slabs of ice, crashing onto the river below,Memories of the song `Tijuana Taxi' were vividly
seemed enchanting, the colors playing on therecalled, as we hurtled forward - accelerator - brake,
cascading water and illuminating the fine misty spray,swerve, accelerator - brake, swerve, towards our
which rose several hundred feet into the air above thehotel, a former Mexican palace.
river, left us breathless. We were entranced to seeAs our tortured vehicle squealed round a corner on
frozen spray dropping down on to the trees below, tothe Zocalo; the largest - and busiest - highway in the
form perfect icicles. At that moment, were inworld; I saw a sight that brought tears to my eyes.
wonderland. But, oh it was so cold!On a traffic island, in the middle of this amazingly busy
Next morning, we awoke to temperatures of minushighway, stood a tree. A tree, so green, it brought a
eight degrees, which quickly plummeted to minuslump to my throat. At that sight, I cried like a baby. That
twelve. Weak rays of pale sunshine, valiantly tried totree revealed the answer to my distress.
warm the frozen landscape, through which we touredGreen! An absence of green from my life had deeply
the famous sights around the falls.disturbed my happy disposition.
Looking out at the frozen spectacle was like steppingI'd travelled this huge distance, to find out how
back in time. I was reminded of my mother's batteredimportant is one of the most basic influences on my
photo album with its many sepia-toned photographs.life. Green! It is a color deeply embedded in my psyche.
The trees in North America are deciduous, losing theirThe surroundings of my lifetime were peppered with
leaves in autumn, before the bitter winter's chill attacksgreen, as the dominant flora of New Zealand is made
them. The sepia colors I was encountering in thatup of evergreen trees.
wintry panorama seemed the same as in the album.During my childhood, many of my spare hours were
Two days later, we left again for Buffalo, to fly on tospent happily climbing the trees surrounding my home,
Cleveland in Ohio. A sharp frost had left an icy terraina place of exquisitely green lawns and clipped hedges.
in its wake and, as we drove to Buffalo, through milesIn flashbacks, I remembered my adolescence, when I'd
of snow-covered landscape, I began to feel a decidedtramped through miles of mountain beech forests,
unease that I blamed on jetlag. I was depressed;without ever realising, what a vital part they played.
although depression is not something I have previouslyAnd now, an adult, I'd created luxuriant gardens,
suffered.featuring lush green ferns and evergreen trees.
Our stay in Cleveland was unusual; we arrived for StYet, for more than forty years, I'd taken those
Patrick's Day and witnessed a huge St Patrick'simportant and fertile surroundings for granted - until that
parade, where thousands of genuine (and would-be),moment.
Irishmen, turned out for the celebration. It wasIn that instant, when I saw that tree, I knew my life
interesting to see dyed green hair and to drink greencould never be complete without the healing and
beer. Everything that day was Irish!relaxing shades of green; the color of Mother Nature
A day later, after exploring the tourist haunts and Artherself. I'll never forget how important a part the color
Galleries of Cleveland, tempered overnight, by agreen plays in my life. It is the source of my happiness
whiteout blizzard, which dumped deep snowdrifts onand inspiration.