By Wickham Boyle
This is the month for Gratitude. Well, every month should be, but this month actually ends with a holiday whose very root is pure thanks. It is a holiday that can be celebrated by every religion, race, and creed with the very simple premise of gathering for a meal and expressing thanks.
Being grateful seems simple — as the kids say, a no-brainer — yet why do I find myself more consumed with the morass of mess in my life than with the joy, the wonder, the very grateful nature of all I have? I know I am not alone.
In my meditation class the teacher offered an idea for focus. Begin a notebook where you list, take stock of every thing for which you are grateful. Uuugh, I think, another damn notebook, another task to upbraid me with non-completion. But I am a too good student, taking on all assignments, and so I grudgingly began this little blue notebook purchased in Firenze the summer before September 11, 2001 -- you know, when traveling was less fraught.
The first few entries were about loving my husband, my kids even the cat. And then it got more difficult to find what I was grateful for as I went into a bit of a depressed, angry spin. I wanted to vent my wrath at my upstairs neighbor for filling my house with construction dust, at my ex for non-payment of child support, at my spreading middle for not responding to sit-ups the way it used to. I wanted to use this notebook as a dump, the way I often did my journal or my friends. But I have a modicum of discipline left, and so I sat with my Gratitude Notebook on my lap until I could push myself to write only positive.
Finally I pushed myself to write: “I am grateful I still have the breath and mind space to achieve many of the things I desire. Grateful for my partner, who believes in change, and for resolve, friends, love, life, and even for being so itchy because it means I have a place to work in nature.”
It was late at night, on the eve of September 11 of this year, when I finally wrote that, and it released me, allowing me to fall asleep after chasing the angry mice in my brain for hours.
Ahh, I thought, the next morning, after I woke from a sound sleep, maybe this counting gratitude instead of grudges really works. And sure enough, as my husband brought me a cup of strong black coffee and turned on the Today show, there was a panel of therapists, psychiatrists, and other self-helpers, who were discussing the keys to happiness. And don’t you know it, the top one was gratitude.
It seems as if happiness cannot flourish if one doesn’t make space to be grateful every day. And here is the wonderful thing: Happiness is available to all of us, not just the rich and the successful. In fact these studies showed it is not the monumental things which cause profound joy. It is not the mansions for which we express gratitude, but rather sticky kisses from kids, the aroma of hot coffee brewing, concocted by my partner padding in old slippers on the cold floor. It is the changing seasons, the warm breeze, and the occasional proffering of love from a recalcitrant teenager that cause our heart lights to glow.
And so this year, when we gather — family strays, young and not so — I want to offer my thanks, my prayer of gratitude for the very act of being grateful. I want to recommit to sitting and thinking of all I have and am, rather than all I am not.
I often think about Peter Pan teaching his charges to fly. When two of the three kids were airborne, the most dour child, Michael, was still floor-stuck. Peter Pan’s flight instruction was only: “Lovelier thoughts, Michael.” And sure enough, the kid ascends immediately.
I wish us all lovelier thoughts, more gratitude, less fear, abating anger and more genuine gratitude. A year of gratitude that begins with this very thankful month.
