A gardener can enjoy one good bloom without asking it to justify the whole year.

Single good things get spoiled by being made to account for everything around them. One flower out of a whole bed, one good day in a bad month, one piece of work that came out right: each can simply be enjoyed, or each can be interrogated about whether it was worth the effort it sat inside. The second habit produces a life in which nothing is ever quite sufficient; pleasure and accounting do not mix well.

When something good happens this week, resist the tally for one afternoon. Let it be entirely itself before you decide what it proves.