DEAR KRISTIN: I’ll admit it: I’m bored with my life. I wake up at the same time every morning. Drive the same routes to and from work. I’m bored with my boss’s constant “sell-sell-sell” refrain and I’m bored with my customers who always expect “more-more-more” for less-less-less. I’m even bored with my wife’s beautiful-but-boring face smiling at me from across the dinner table each night. (I love my wife dearly, I should add, but that doesn’t make her face any less boring. I’m just being honest here.) When I look out the window, I see the same old trees and the same old driveway. I’m even bored with our cat, Semper Fi.

The most ironic part is that I’m actually pretty happy in my life. I’m healthy, my marriage is strong, our two kids are well-adjusted and successful. I’m just bored! The monotony is messing with my mind. Help! -- BORED WITH BEING BORED

DEAR BORED: Two suggestions: Find a new hobby and put on a new pair of glasses.

The hobby thing is simple enough. But since we both know that “simple” doesn’t always translate into “easy,” be aware that some effort will be involved on your part. Get on the computer and see what classes your local community center is offering on Saturday morning. Then select one. Then start attending! Setting your intention is useless unless you follow it up with action. Don’t overthink this. Just register and then go. To start, you’ve got to, well, start.

The important thing is to create a new rhythm in your life, but don’t go overboard. Pick one new hobby -- two at the most. Any more than that might make you feel overwhelmed, and then you won’t follow through with any of them.

The second suggestion involves putting on a new pair of glasses -- meaning you need to try to look at life and this amazing world around you through a more expansive lens. Train your brain to find the extraordinary beauty in the ordinary. This is an acquired skill that must be cultivated. Put simply, it takes effort and some rewiring of the brain, but it can be done. As usual, I’ll speak from the depth of my own human experience.

From a very early age -- as an itty-bitty girl -- my mother taught me to the see the extraordinary beauty in ordinary things.

I remember standing in the backyard with my mother one summer afternoon, just after a rainstorm. I was wearing my yellow rainboots, and we both looked up at the sky at the same time to see this beautiful rainbow.

A few seconds later, my mom reached down to the ground and placed a small rock in my hand. (I still have that rock today, by the way.) She whispered, “Look at this beautiful brown rock, Krissy. Look at its curves and contours. Feel its weight. Feel how cool and slippery it feels in your hand. It’s still wet from the rain, isn’t it? This plain brown rock is every bit as beautiful as the rainbow. Both are unique and both are beautiful.”

Today, I practice what I call “Brown Rock Gratitude” each and every day. I look at the ordinary, everyday things around me with continuous wonder and fresh-eyed grace. This isn’t Pollyanna, pie-in-the-sky empty talk. It is the way my brain is wired, and the thoughts we think are everything.

Tomorrow, when you wake up, try putting on your new lens. You mentioned being bored with sight of the trees in your yard, bored with your cat, Semper Fi, and even with your wife’s “beautiful-but-boring face” (your words, not mine!)

Tomorrow, begin your day by looking at these things -- the trees, your cat, your wife’s face -- as if it’s the very first time in your life you’ve ever seen them. Then in that same moment, gaze upon these beautiful things as if it’s the LAST time you’ll ever see them. I call this “First-Time-Last-Time” gratitude.

Create these new neural pathways. Train your brain to become more wondrous and expansive. Both of these lenses -- “Brown Rock” and “First-Time-Last-Time” -- enrich my life in miraculous and immeasurable ways.

It’s a different way of looking at life. And who gets to decide how you view life?

You do.

DEAR KRISTIN: My father is my hero, my mentor, my protector, my friend. He molded me into the person I am today and taught me how to be a loving parent and a kind, compassionate human being. We always end our conversations with, “I love you.”

Well, almost always.

I was talking to my dad a few weeks ago when another call came through. Since this was a call that I’d been expecting, I had to hang up from my dad fairly quickly. I promised him I’d call him right back; there wasn’t really time to say, “I love you.”

My father suffered a fatal heart attack a few hours later. Now he is gone. Here I am -- suddenly, shockingly -- without him. As I face this Father’s Day without my dad, my grief is also mixed with guilt.

How could I have rushed him off the phone without telling him I loved him? Why didn’t my inner voice tell me that this would be the last time I’d ever hear his voice? How will I live without his wisdom and guidance? How will my children live without their grandfather?

Here’s the thing: I know you don’t have answers to these questions, nor do I expect you to. I guess what I’m looking for is comfort. I’m asking that you take my hand and share a few words that will ease this pain. -- FEELING GUILTY ABOUT MY GOODBYE

DEAR GUILTY: Please accept my deepest condolences and most heartfelt prayers. My heart goes out to you. And here, I will ask you to do something for me: In this very moment, as you are reading these words, extend your arm outward ... and I will take your hand. I will hold your hand and offer you words of comfort, solace and grace.

As you navigate these deep, deep waters of grief, be aware that there are life preservers all around you. Anchor yourself in the knowledge that you and your father loved each other deeply. What a blessing, that you were wise enough to express this love to each other all the time. This kind of love defies death. It doesn’t end when life ends -- and it certainly doesn’t end with a phone call. Let this love be your life preserver; it will keep you buoyant.

I also suggest you see a grief counselor or other mental health professional. This, too, could be a life preserver; he or she will help you process this pain. But to reach for this life preserver will require you to, well, reach for this life preserver. Take the action. Make the call. If you don’t have the energy, it’s OK; grief like this can be energy-sapping -- so ask a friend or a loved one to assist in the effort.

I know your pain, Beloved. And while the pain of your grief is uniquely yours, it is sometimes comforting to remember that others around you have navigated these waters as well -- so I will speak, now, from the depths of my own experience with the grief that comes from losing a father. Maybe something I write about my own experience will help lighten your load; help you to feel less alone.

My father died very suddenly, too -- and the pain of losing him seared my soul. He was my protector and my compass. He was the papa bear, and I will always be his littlest cub.

My last conversation with my dad was also over the phone. I don’t remember whether I told him I loved him during that last conversation -- which might be the very point I’m trying to make: He already knew I loved him, and I already knew he loved me. The largeness of our love, in fact, was what helped heal my broken heart.

As I thrashed and flailed in the deepest depths of my own grief, I allowed this love to act as my life preserver. It didn’t push the pain away, but it did act as a flotation device. Our love brought me buoyancy at a time when all I wanted to do was sink.

Let your love keep you afloat as well, my friend, and understand that you don’t need to tread these waters alone. Your grief is necessary ... but don’t let it drown you.

What will drown you -- if you let it -- is the guilt. Guilt is greedy, it is toxic, and it is useless. Unlike grief, which eventually transforms into acceptance and understanding, guilt transforms into nothing. You didn’t cause your father’s death. He knew you loved him without you even having to say the words. There is no space in your life for guilt. Don’t let it suck up any more of your oxygen.

Let your guilt suffocate itself.

DEAR KRISTIN: I’ve got a good friend who’s developing an irritating habit: He’s always looking for a laugh. Every other word that comes out of his mouth has to be steeped in humor -- even the unfunny stuff. Every sentence has to lead up to a punchline.

And this thing I call “the pause” is the absolute worst: Right after he utters his wittiest witticism, he’ll pause for a quick second and just sit there expectantly, waiting for me to laugh. When I’m with him these days, I feel more like a judge at a comedy contest than a plain old friend who just wants to have a normal conversation. Others have noticed it, too. -- ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE HUMOR

DEAR ENOUGH ALREADY: Sounds like your buddy’s not just looking for laughs; he’s also thirsty for attention and validation. And the fact that this humor-hungry habit has only developed recently might be a sign that something is unfolding in his life that’s not all that funny at all.

I’m not a trained therapist, but I can still offer a few human-centered, heartfelt suggestions that might be of help: Talk to your buddy. Cut through the clutter of his constant humor. Ask him how he’s doing; how his life is going. If it feels like he might need a helping hand, let him know you’re open to a serious conversation -- and if he’s sending you some red-flag signals that there might be deeper disturbances, encourage him to seek the help of a professional. We need to help each other understand that there is no shame in seeking help -- there is only victory.

If it turns out it’s not all that deep -- that your buddy is just searching for that extra laugh simply for the sake of searching for that extra laugh -- then what you’ve got is a buddy with an annoying habit.

Even if that is the case, you’ve still got options. Start ignoring some of the punchlines! Talk right over them. News alert: Just because your buddy wants you to laugh all the time doesn’t mean you have to laugh all the time!

Next time you ask him for his opinion about something that requires a thoughtful response and he still comes at you with humor, try, “I’m not asking for a punchline here. I’m asking for your opinion.”

You could also -- and ultimately -- embrace his insatiable hunger for humor and simply accept him for who he is. Be grateful for the fact that he cares enough about you to even want to elicit your smiles. There are far worse habits, that’s for sure.