When it comes to graffiti in public restrooms I am, like most people, a reluctant reader rather than an inspired writer. The wit displayed on those walls is rarely memorable; there are only so many poems that begin with, “Here I sit, broken-hearted,” and tired messages along the lines of “For a good time, call Debbie at 555-1212” aren’t only not funny, they’re rarely accurate.

Or so I’m told.

But while I would never consider creating extra work for a building’s janitorial staff by actually using an indelible marker to scrawl something while perched upon the porcelain queen, I do read every legible word others have left there.

Recently I found myself in a stall where someone had inexplicably printed, “Misery loves company.”

Some people can’t help feeling bad; clinical depression is no joke. But it’s hard to understand why rational humans feeling perturbed, inadequate, or aggrieved invariably gravitate toward other disenchanted types, like moths drawn to a flame. Such unholy, unhealthy alliances rarely improve anyone’s lot; in fact, associating with already-unhappy persons more often than not results in everyone involved feeling even more actively wretched, and for lengthier periods of time.

Expecting a situation to improve by obsessing over the non-ideal aspects of one’s existence seems counterproductive, yet countless habitually dissatisfied individuals actively seek out other actively disgruntled types. It’s hard to see the sense of purposely keeping company with persons even angrier and/or sadder than one’s already-discontented self, yet habitual malcontents insist on doing just that, and with surprising determination.

But as with many tried-and-true adages, “Misery loves company” has an equally-true inverse: Happiness loves companionship, too. Hope, gladness, and satisfaction are just as easily shared as gloom, fear, and paranoia.

The world really is full of positive energy; the power of kindness is latent in everyone. Those who regularly practice gratitude, distribute sincere compliments, have faith in others, and consistently display graciousness and generosity are dependable sources of it.

Family members, co-workers, neighbors, or total strangers capable of improving the lives of others (while simultaneously enhancing their own!) are all around, even if they often hide in plain sight.

But for those who prefer giving and getting affirmation in groups, nothing’s more reliable than being around people performing good deeds for no pay. I discovered that more than three decades ago, when at a friend’s suggestion I began competing in charity road races. Raising money for a worthy cause while concurrently staying physically fit seemed like reward enough, but an even bigger fringe benefit was mingling with other runners and the volunteers coordinating the event. Every person there had an aura that was equal parts friendly, helpful, and kind, plus all of them were being proactive about doing something for others and for themselves. And even though I clearly wasn’t an Olympic-quality runner, the joy and good cheer permeating the atmosphere at those races was worth ten times the exertion I expended trying to run five miles in under thirty minutes. Anyplace people flock to volunteer their time is a guaranteed Mother Lode of good karma.

Walk the dogs at an animal shelter. Read to shut-ins, or to toddlers at the library. Join a group that picks up trash along the highway, or in state parks. Share a passion with like-minded (or differently-minded) people.

Five years ago the surgeon who installed a titanium hip to replace my overused and crumbling one told me in no uncertain terms I had better not do anything to mess up his handiwork, which effectively finished me as a runner. But it didn’t stop my consorting with unashamedly upbeat people.

These days I find bushels of positivity at the Red Cross in Portland. Staffed by kind professionals and eager volunteers, it’s fraught with people willing to endure a few moments serving as human voodoo dolls to donate blood products to people less fortunate than themselves. Full disclosure: I HATE needles, and for years used that as an excuse for avoiding getting anywhere near the blood bank. But then it dawned on me:  everyone hates needles! It’s the few who enjoy getting stuck with them we should worry about!

In fact, I feel so strongly about the value of hanging out with blood donors and the people who assist them that I recently violated one of my core principles. Returning to the bathroom that originally got me thinking about the counterintuitive nature of purposely consorting with angry people, I entered the stall that was still emblazoned with “Misery Loves Company,” locked the door, pulled out a nonpermanent marker, and wrote “For a good time, call 1-800-RED-CROSS.”

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