Navigating Happiness: Lessons Across Generations

Raymond Notaro grew up in Clinton, Massachusetts, a small town (Pop. 15,000) with a blue-collar character and, as he describes it, a rougher edge. He and I come from different generations, but our conversations kept bringing us back to a familiar place: the experiences that shape us may look different across generations, yet the lessons learned remain the same.

Our intergenerational writing class is exploring “The Pursuit of Happiness.” Twenty University of Colorado upperclass students each pair up with 20 community members. We do some in-class writing in response to prompts, then discuss what comes to mind.

When Ray and I compared our similar interpretations of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, I wondered whether happiness might have less to do with climbing toward the top than with figuring out when we have enough.

We’re both pursuing happiness. Ray figured out what took me seven decades to learn.

At 73, I’ve spent a lifetime wandering Superman’s American Way. You know, “faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive,” bigger is better than weaker, richer is better than poorer, winning is better than losing as we fight for “Truth, Justice, and the American Way.”

Ray approaches Maslow from a different direction. Fifty-two years younger than me, Ray has a head start on minimalist happiness. He describes self-actualization as meeting his physiological and safety needs and doesn’t need to climb any higher.

“Give me a granola bar, a bottle of water, a place to sleep, and I’m good,” he told me. Ray likes to camp. He recounted a recent outing to the Bridger-Teton National Forest. “We didn’t think about going to Grand Teton National Park or Yellowstone.”

I worked, accumulated possessions, collected baseball cards, and filled my days with the ordinary stuff of life, wondering if I needed more. I thought of self-actualization as a point in life I would reach through experience, accomplishment, and accumulation. Like many Americans, I’d spent decades adding layers to my life.

Now I’m peeling them away.

Ray won’t have layers to shed.

After being reminded how a 1,000-year flood or an urban wildfire can wipe out the material aspects of life, Swedish death cleaning has become part of my routine. I’m sorting through possessions, simplifying my surroundings, and reconsidering what I need to get by. I’m a regular on Facebook Marketplace.

Meeting with Ray reinforced my downward slide and my happiness in the basics: physical needs, safety, and striving for the Dalai Lama’s notion of nothingness.

I accumulated far more than I ever needed. I’ve been letting go.

I envy Ray.

“I’m majoring in International Relations.” He has studied in Germany and wants to visit every country. He showed me a metal ring with charms his mother gave him from the 21 countries he’s visited. “I want a job that allows me to travel. I’m filling out an application to study abroad again.”

Ray’s happy to claw his way toward the middle of Maslow’s hierarchy, laying the foundation for a life that doesn’t require much more than enough to create meaningful experiences.

I made it to the top, but I had to stop.

I ran out of time.

Ray hasn’t, and he’s not wasting his.

Our paths look different, but we’re heading toward a similar understanding of happiness. Ray is building a life around having just enough. I learned that my enough is too much after a lifetime of wanting more.

Our conversation led us to the people who have taught us how to live. Ray played soccer for the Clinton High School Gaels and started all four years. The coaches named him to the Midland Wachusett League All-Conference team. He had opportunities to play at the next level at the University of New England or Stonehill.

“I needed to get out of Clinton,” he said about moving out of his hometown. “I came out for a ski trip. Visited Boulder and decided on CU. Good vibe here. Clinton isn’t that far away, really. I’ll be going home for a reunion with my family and friends at the end of October for my birthday.”

I asked Ray to tell me about an adult outside his family who had a positive influence on him and instilled a lesson he still carries today.

He told me about his four-year physical education teacher, Mr. Paul Zapantis.

“Mr. Zapantis chaperoned a high school trip to Europe my senior year. He’s an adult I could talk to in confidence. He taught and also worked at the funeral home. I could visit him there.”

In small towns, people often work more than one job. When I lived in Lander, a town of 7,000, I worked in the city administration and also covered sports for the twice-weekly local paper.

“Clinton’s a rough town.” On account of that, Ray explained that his high school maintained strict rules. Authority figures enforced discipline and expected students to follow directions. Zapantis took a different approach. “He trusted us.”

Rather than relying on rules and punishment, Zapantis treated young people with respect. He set expectations and trusted his students to meet them. Ray remembers that Zapantis established a standard students didn’t want to disappoint.

“Some adults are scary. Mr. Zapantis is a good guy. When we came back from Europe, he invited us out for breakfast at Lou’s Diner. Six in the morning. We all showed up. He gave me the travel bug.”

Ray told me about the biggest lesson he learned from studying abroad in Germany in 2025.

“A group of us went to Munich for Oktoberfest.” He recalled. “A bunch of Dutch guys were singing a song about Max Verstappen [a well-known Formula 1 race car driver from the Netherlands]. We joined in the fun. The police showed up and detained us, not for drinking. One of the Dutch kids looked like he gave the Nazi salute [After World War II, the German government criminalized anything promoting Nazism]. They detained me, but they mostly wanted the Dutch kid.”

What struck me about Ray’s story is that he realized what he had learned from Zapantis extends to a higher level. In environments like his school and in Germany, where strict rules governed much of life, there’s a distinction between demanding good behavior and inspiring it. It’s important to build relationships, but to act responsibly.

Ray told me that respect works both ways. An adult who respects a young person sends a message that the young person matters, that someone believes in them, and that they have a responsibility to live up to that belief.

Zapantis raised the bar by trusting his students to reach it.

Ray also spoke about his supportive family. His father’s family immigrated from Sardinia, while his mother’s roots reach back to Ireland. Their experiences reminded me of my family’s history as Japanese immigrants. Our families came from different parts of the world, but both encountered the challenges of finding acceptance and belonging in America.

Our shared experiences gave me another point of connection with Ray. Our families carried their cultural traditions and experiences into an America that didn’t always welcome immigrants with open arms. The details differ, but the desire to belong, be treated fairly, be respected, and build a secure life crosses generations.

That’s another reason Ray’s story about Zapantis resonated with me. Respect shapes how people, young and old, should see themself, how they treat others, and what they expect from the world.

As Ray and I talked, I kept returning to our opposite, yet similar approaches to Maslow’s hierarchy. I began my journey believing that happiness meant being like Superman, reaching higher, achieving more, accumulating the rewards of life.

Ray is reimagining Superman’s American Way. He’s content to establish a solid foundation and build a life around what he considers essential.

The pursuit of happiness doesn’t necessarily mean climbing higher or grasping for more.

Ray is beginning with the basics. I’m trying to return to them. Our conversation reminded me that happiness isn’t a destination reserved for the accomplished or those who have accumulated the most.

For Ray, the lesson began with a teacher who trusted him enough to act respectfully and to do no harm. For me, it’s taken decades of living, collecting, and now letting go to recognize how much of life depends on what we give one another, rather than take.

I doubt that I’ll reach the Dalai Lama’s nothingness because I spend too much time watching Netflix and sports. Ray has a better chance of traveling to 172 remaining nations. That’s beside the point. Our paths don’t have to match for the lessons to connect.

Ray carries Mr. Zapantis’s influence forward by treating people with respect. He extends the trust that helped shape him. Knowing a caring adult believed in you, and then carrying that belief into the lives of others, may be the most enduring form of happiness.

I spent much of my life believing happiness awaited me near the top of Maslow’s mountain. Ray, 50 years younger, reminded me that the top is closer to the ground.

Ray has a granola bar, a bottle of water, a room, and an airplane ticket. I have another carload of boxes I’m packing to donate to the American Heritage Center at the University of Wyoming.

The way up is climbing down.

How Baby Boomers Became Mobile Device Addicts Like Gen Z

A boy excitedly shows an old radio he found at an antique mall to an elderly man sitting in a chair, who is smiling and holding a smartphone. A dog rests on the floor nearby.

I saw a segment on the NBC Evening News saying Baby Boomers are becoming just as addicted to their mobile devices as Gen Z.

I don’t know why that’s surprising.

We Boomers have been connected since puberty.

When I was in junior high, I called a radio station, and for being the first to know that the Nile is the longest river in the world, I won a generic transistor radio in a brown leather case. I carried that little radio everywhere, listening to the Beatles through a single mono earphone.

Today’s teenagers walk around with wireless earbuds.

A vintage transistor radio, red and silver in color, with a volume control and an earphone connected, next to a black carrying case.

I blocked out the world with a transistor radio and a wire hanging out of my ear.

Same addiction. Better sound.

My grandmother later brought home a battery-operated Sony Micro TV from a vacation in Japan. She brought it on picnics so my grandfather could watch baseball.

A collection of vintage electronics including a black leather camera bag, a brown camera, a small vintage Sony television with a retractable antenna, and additional accessories laid on a floral patterned fabric.

We took television with us on family outings before anyone had heard of streaming.

In the 1970s, I majored in science. The curriculum expected to do math. Texas Instruments introduced one of the first handheld electronic calculators. The school banned them from the classroom.

We had to do the calculations with a slide rule, pencil, and paper.

Educators already knew where this would be headed, and still do. In my CU intergenerational writing class, the department established ground rules for AI use. All the writing assignments are composed by hand in class.

Cover of an IBM Mag Card II Typewriter operating instructions manual featuring the typewriter on a table and a data processor unit or card reader beside it.

When I entered the workforce in 1977, the City of Gillette used Fortran-sized magnetic cards to store correspondence that could be typed on an IBM Selectric typewriter at the push of a button.

When I moved to Lander, I was in charge and convinced the city to buy a Lanier word processor that stored information on proprietary floppy disks. I had a DOS-based computer that ran Word Perfect without Windows.

A vintage portable electronic typewriter with a built-in LCD screen and a QWERTY keyboard.

I also wrote for the local Lander newspaper. In the late 1980s, the paper had networked Macintosh Model SE computers together and published digitally.

I got my first laptop, a TRS-80 Model 100 and an external hard drive.

This was cutting-edge technology.

The dot-matrix printer sounded like a small appliance factory every time you printed a page.

Then America Online started mailing its internet software on CDs. The newspaper office had a telephone modem cradle, and we could transmit stories electronically.

A package containing an AOL Gold Mini-ROM CD, featuring a promotional offer for 100 free hours of internet access, highlighting compatibility with Windows and Macintosh.

Remember the sound of a dial-up connection?

Rheeeeeee!

A miracle.

By the 1990s, I was living in Boulder, where Indra was an early internet service provider. I got my first email account. It’s now out of business, but I still use my adoecos handle on Yahoo! 

Technology accelerated.

In the early 1990s, I bought a bulky Nokia 101, then upgraded to a 1011. It could send text messages, although “user-friendly” would not have been the first phrase that came to mind.

An old-fashioned mobile phone with a flip-out keypad and a green screen displaying various functions and options.

In 2001, I switched to a Kyocera. It had a flip-down keyboard that exposed a screen where I could use a stylus to select apps and scribble emails using Kyocera’s graffiti shorthand. 

By 2004, I had moved on to a Palm with a camera and an actual keyboard.

I’ll stop there, because this list could get ridiculous.

The transistor radio became the smartphone.

The mono Beatles earphone became AirPods.

A close-up of a Palm Treo smartphone displaying its main menu, featuring icons for various applications such as Calendar, Contacts, and Facebook.

The Sony Micro TV became streaming video.

The calculator became a personal computer.

The magnetic card became the cloud.

The telephone modem became Wi-Fi.

We Boomers didn’t discover technology. We kept upgrading analog versions of it, and ourselves.

Like kids today, my information flow sped up as a teenager. The difference is that Gen Z was born into the digital revolution and didn’t have to wait.

We Boomers had a front-row seat to it all.

Since doomsdayers predict AI will bring the end of humankind, I’ll dig out a transistor radio and listen to the Beatles when World War III starts.

Wonder Woman, Dolly Parton, and Gloria Steinem

A couple of days ago, I sorted through my last box of autographed baseballs, and I found another artifact I’d forgotten about. Behind the printer and a 1962 “Life” magazine with a Roger Maris – Mickey Mantle Post cereal baseball card insert, I found my first edition of “Ms.” magazine.

The cover with the headline “Wonder Woman for President” threw me back to 1972.

Here’s another case of uncanny timing. The night before, a neighbor asked if I’d set up a projector in my Silver Sage Village community courtyard to screen “9 to 5,” the 1980 comedy starring Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin, and the late Dolly Parton.

Three women fed up with a sexist boss turn the tables, take control of the company, and change the workplace. It’s slapstick funny and a pretty good primer on workplace misogyny.

Then I read in my Yahoo! news feed that Gloria Steinem had died at 92.

Steinem and others founded “Ms.” The magazine in my collection seemed a lot more significant than it had the day before. I read the table of contents and flipped through the pages. The country had changed, but much of it hasn’t.

The first regular issue of “Ms.” appeared in July 1972. It began as a preview inserted into “New York” magazine in December 1971. That preview sold 300,000 copies, generating thousands of subscription orders and letters. The response showed that the world had seriously underestimated what women wanted to read about.

The women’s magazines of the day largely revolved around fashion, beauty, marriage, children, and how to keep everybody else happy. “Ms.” treated women as citizens and political actors, not just consumers.

Steinem stood at the center of it.

She wore several hats in the startup. She had to be a businesswoman, a strong writer, a savvy political activist, and one of second-wave feminism’s most recognizable figures.

Steinem believed that the feminist movement needed a national publication where women’s experiences and political ideas could be taken seriously.

She and the magazine editors wanted Wonder Woman on the first cover as a symbol of female strength and independence.

At the time, DC Comics had stripped Wonder Woman of her superpowers and put her into a more conventional secret-agent role. DC restored Wonder Woman’s powers and traditional identity.

“Ms.” chose Wonder Woman to make a point about what happens when a powerful woman is made less powerful.

Inside the first issue, Steinem wrote an article with the provocative title “Women Voters Can’t Be Trusted.” Steinem took on the conventional political wisdom that women were unreliable, politically passive, or voted the way the men in their lives told them to vote.

In the article, Steinem argues that society misunderstood and underestimated women voters. She encourages women to discover their political power.

The political world looked very different in the 1970s when only 15 women served in Congress. No woman had been a major-party presidential or vice-presidential nominee. Democrat Shirley Chisholm changed all that when the Congresswoman became the first African American woman to run for president.

I learned that “Ms.” named Dolly Parton one of its “Women of the Year” in 1987. Steinem praised Parton for infusing feminism into her music and for celebrating women who made their own way. You can hear that spirit in “Just Because I’m a Woman,” “9 to 5,” and “Travelin’ Man,” the theme for “Transamerica.”

Parton gave voice to women’s independence, working lives, and the double standards they faced. Steinem observed that Dolly didn’t give political speeches but walked the talk through her song lyrics.

My copy of “Ms.” had survived, tucked away among baseball memorabilia.

That’s appropriate.

Baseball is all statistics, records, and arguments by armchair coaches about who belongs in the lineup. In 1972, women had no records to compare and had to battle to get through the turnstiles.

Gloria Steinem spent her life arguing that women belonged in the seats and in the field, diving for hard-hit line drives.

Dolly, Gloria, and Wonder Woman for MVP!