We tend to forget that happiness doesn’t come as a result of getting something we don’t have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.” Keonig

1939 is generally regarded as the greatest single year in American moviemaking.   Jimmy Stewart went to Washington as Mr. Smith, Garbo played a captivating Russian in Ninochka, but Gable and Leigh swept most of the Oscars in Gone with the Wind. An “also ran’ in the Best Picture competition was a film that had been something of a box office failure, only recouping its production costs when it was re-released several years later. The movie was The Wizard of Oz.

Despite its humble beginnings, it could be argued that the fantasy revolving around Dorothy and her three companions, the Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow, eclipsed the other contenders in 1939 as the most beloved film of its era. Why is that?

Several reasons, probably. First, virtually everyone born after WW II grew up with the film. Multiple viewing became the norm, long before cassettes, DVDs, and Netflix. But as all of us grew from childhood into adulthood, the underlying message of the story supplanted the entertainment value of watching munchkins dance and seeing the four travelers quake from the intimidating Wicked Witch. The lessons were demonstrated through the ironic lessons of Dorothy’s three travelling companions. The Lion recognized that he always was capable of bravery. The Tin Man came to understand that he was always compassionate. And the Scarecrow figured out that he was always the brightest of the group.

The most important insight flowed from Dorothy, however. She came to understand that while Oz was glitzy and exciting, Kansas was home. Those that Dorothy appeared to take for granted, principally Auntie Em and all of the others on the farm who loved her, were appreciated by the conclusion of the tale. And yet nothing had changed in Kansas while Dorothy had been away. The only shift had taken place between Dorothy’s ears. This is the fundamental principle of the “snowman.”   Our operative beliefs dictate our actions and, ultimately, how we feel about our lives and ourselves.

How often to we invest ourselves in the “shiny objects “ that present themselves on our journey on Trip Earth? Generally, they prove to be as valuable and dependable as the faux Rolex we won at a carnival. What (and who) should we be valuing and, perhaps more importantly, what should we be working on to fix or improve? Are we, like Dorothy, lost and searching, when we are already in the best place for us right now?

Look closely and honestly. Then decide and react accordingly.

Plenty of people miss their share of happiness not because they never found it, but because they didn’t stop to enjoy it. Marcel Proust