Just Another Gratitude Post
In looking over my personal journals, I’ve found several different versions of a gratitude log. One is a single page, with each item added to the next after a comma. Another is a little note beneath each box my written calendar as something to be thankful for in a given day. My most recent version is a page with the days of the month on one side and a space to write the daily highlights. This is in memory of a friend to bound up to me in my high school years and ask, “What’s been the highlight of your day?”
The lovely thing about that last part, is even if the day has been rotten, there has to be a high point. It could be that the clouds were particularly spectacular in the sunset or that my cat deemed to seek me out and sit on my keyboard or the back of my office chair. It could be that I spent time with a friend I hadn’t seen in a good long while or that I finally had a breakthrough in my writing. Some days, the highlight was getting out of bed, but as I keep track of my days, I find that those days become fewer and farther between.
In a strange course of thought, I’ve been drawn towards writing down the terrible things in my life and how I can be grateful for them. How even the bad parts of a day, a month, or a year can be good in some light. It’s been a weird exercise to take. After all, how can I say that I’m grateful that my car broke down? Or that I was bullied growing up? Or even grateful that my father died?
That last one is especially morbid. And for any of them I do have an easy out: I’m a writer. They say to write what you know and I’m grateful for any bit of knowledge that I have, factual, emotional, or otherwise.
But there’s more to the story than that. I wish more than anything that my father were alive or even that we had more years together. And yet, I wouldn’t change my life because if he hadn’t died, would I still be the person I am today?
Every moment of each day builds on the previous, and there are choices in all of them. Tiny, microscopic choices and enormous life-changing ones. But each choice changes who you are in fundamental ways. What will you do when someone cuts you off in traffic? Will you smile at the child in the shopping cart in front of you? It’s cold out, do you still want to take that walk? How are you going to respond to an inflammatory email or post on social media? What will you say to your friend who might be grieving for any number of reasons?
Sunsets, clouds, and seasons. Friends and family. Fulfilling work and stability. Grief and loss and pain. I’m grateful for all of it. Because each piece, large or small, is part of me. And is part of the experience called life. When the days get darker and it feels like nothing will work out, I just need to take a deep breath and feel it to the base of my lungs. I need to have hope that my future self will be grateful that I decided to live.
