For everything. I make it a point to find gratitude in everything. The word gratitude has become such a buzzword since I started focusing on it back in 2016. It’s like “goodness” and “journey”. Those words feel overused and slightly irritating to me. Gratitude list, gratitude journal, spiritual journey, manifest, blah blah. Some words and phrases can be so annoying when they’re in your face and plastered all over everything. Like, “Live, Laugh, Love” ya’ll. #blessed
The goodness of my spiritual self-love gratitude journey. Is it just me or does that sentence exude some new-age pretentious tone? I can just hear some soft-spoken blond with flawless skin and cheekbones to her temples donning not even an ounce of fat on her entire body wearing an oversized flowy dress talking about the goodness of her self-love gratitude journey in her latest Instagram story. Gag. Eyeroll. Cringe. That image is enough to send me running in the opposite direction. Regardless, I’m keeping the word gratitude because I’ve fully committed to it as something far more significant than a buzzword to gain social media followers.
Gratitude is simple. It’s finding appreciation and acknowledging the existence of the good stuff. Even the bad stuff that turns into good stuff. Even the smallest things that we take for granted.
I’m grateful for the bed I’m sleeping in and the soft blanket I cuddle with and I’m thankful for hand sanitizer and hot water. I’m also thankful for big things like my health and the love and grace that’s shown to me when I feel undeserving of it. I’m thankful for my friends and family, both blood and chosen family. I’m thankful for the time and opportunities I’ve been given. I’m grateful for the technology that allows me to talk to my best friends on the other side of the world. I’m also incredibly grateful for a good strong cup of coffee when I have the chance to have it. I have appreciation for the impermanence of the struggles, too.
I start and end my day with gratitude. Everyday. No exception. Before I ever get out of bed or open my eyes, at the first sound of my alarm (I’m a snoozer, so this goes on for a while), I have trained my minds’ first thought to be “I’m grateful for…..” At night, same thing. In the middle of the day when I’m flustered or exhausted or bothered, I say “thank you for this ——“ and find SOMETHING to be grateful for. Even if it’s just the shoes on my feet. In almost every instance, I can easily name at least ten things without even having to think too hard about it. I name one thing and the rest just comes naturally.
From experience, I have learned that the more I acknowledge what I’m grateful for, the more I have to be grateful for. It’s about recognition of what I do have rather than waiting for something to be perfect to give thanks for it. Nothing is perfect. Even seemingly perfect things aren’t perfect and they certainly aren’t permanent.
I can manage to pick anything apart and be dissatisfied with it. Anything. It’s one of my many horrendous qualities. I’ve learned (the hard way, I might add) that the toxicity that comes from my desire for control and perfectionism bring massive amounts of discontentment into my life. This wasn’t an overnight realization by any means nor was adopting this practice a painless and quick solution, but the consistent practice of naming things I am grateful for makes me a happier person and enables me to find some good in whatever is happening. Not to mention, it makes me far more tolerable to other humans. The antidote for the nitpicking and the sometimes insufferable side of me is gratitude.
Let me give you an example from just the other day. I was leaving the city of Kathmandu in Nepal to come to Pokhara. It was a grueling bus ride. Nine hours of bouncing up and down in a hot bus on roads we would consider only for 4×4 off-roading vehicles. It wasn’t my idea of fun and I was too agitated to think of it as an exciting adventure. It was temporary, as all things are and eventually I reached safely and in tact, but I really had to work hard to get my head right for this.
I thought of hundreds of things I was irritated about when I stepped onto that bus. I was annoyed that I booked a tourist bus and was clearly being put on a local bus despite the ticket I was holding and the money I paid. I was given the very last seat in the very last row, again despite the seat I booked. There wasn’t AC, which I was assured the bus would have when I payed for it. My seat was broken and dirty. The guy at my hotel assured me I would encounter no problem getting a bus. That was a lie, by the way. All these thoughts were accumulating and causing me to want to THROW A FIT, which would have obviously not served me in any way. So, after about an hour of sulking and being pissed off and becoming increasingly more frustrated by the minute, I started thinking about what I was grateful for.
I’m grateful that I’m able to pay for a bus and that my body can endure such a brutal ride and that my phone battery didn’t die and I could listen to audiobooks and watch Netflix. These are little things. Privileged things. Big things are that I wasn’t suffering from a cyst rupturing inside my body or I wasn’t passing a kidney stone or that I didn’t feel unsafe. I hadn’t lost any of my luggage or my important possessions like debit card, passport, or laptop. I reached safely and there weren’t any collisions or landslides or catastrophic disruptions. These are big things.
I was sitting in a bus full of people having the same experience as me. The only difference between my experience and theirs was our mindset, expectations, and privilege. As uncomfortable as I was, I was grateful for the reminder that everything is temporary and if I dwell on the things I’m not satisfied with, NOTHING will ever satisfy me. Suddenly, it was all ok. Still, not comfortable, but much more tolerable.
As the ride went on, a guy and two kids boarded the bus and took the seat beside me. It was empty for a couple of hours, which was nice, but I knew it would eventually fill. I enjoyed the extra space while I had it. He was kind. I could tell as soon as he sat down. When the bus stopped for a washroom and lunch break, I could see him distantly monitoring me to ensure I was able to manage to get some food and find the washroom. (Things here aren’t straightforward. I know these sound like two very simple tasks, but they are rarely simple for a foreigner.) We chatted a little bit on the bus and it was apparent he wasn’t a creeper so I put my guard down. He ended up graciously helping me navigate the chaos once we reached our destination and got off the bus and he helped me sort a cab. When people take time out of their own lives to make my life easier, I have BIG gratitude. I fully recognize it. It never goes overlooked.
Humanity and gratitude. They save me every time. I tell you story this because I’m certain this interaction wouldn’t have happened that way if I were still sitting in a pile of my own frustration and misery when he boarded the bus. Prior to him boarding the bus I’m sure the look on my face was oozing with disgust and approachability.
The practice of consistent gratitude over the last five years has significantly changed my perspective on things and my quality of life. It’s changed everything, actually. I don’t live some fantasy life. It’s not rainbows and unicorns in my world every day. I have responsibilities and endure hardships just like everyone else. I’ve been told that my stresses are “privileged stresses” because they may not look like yours, but your worries may seem privileged to the overworked single mom who just left an abusive relationship and is struggling to feed her kid that week. We are all struggling in some way or another. We’re human and none of us are excluded from suffering. We all have days that suck super hard. Luckily, some days are unbelievably beautiful. It’s the days that suck when the practice of gratitude is most essential and beneficial to me.
Gratitude helps me in acknowledging the interdependence of everything in this world. One thing doesn’t exist without the other. Believing that anything exists independently is complete deception. I can’t tell you how many heartbreaking events in my life have led to something delightful. If whatever bomb it was at the time hadn’t exploded, the good thing that eventually resulted would have never had space to happen. It might be years later before the good thing appears or is recognizable, but it eventually always shows itself.
Do you give thanks for your meals? This is a very basic, yet perfect example of gratitude and interconnectedness. It goes like this: Thank you for this meal. Thank you for the hands that prepared it. Thank you for the people who hauled it up the hill and into the house. Thank you for the transportation that allowed the ingredients to arrive here. Thank you for the driver of said transportation. Thank you for the land it was grown on or the factory that produced it. Thank you for the farmers. Thank you for the food that fed the farmers so they had the strength to tend the fields. Thank you for the availability of water to cook the food and wash the utensils. Thank you for the table I’m eating at. This could go on and on and on. It’s endless. The practice of gratitude helps me recognize this, thus enabling me to realize it’s not all about me when my mind is tail spinning in self-destruction and loathing.
I chose this photo because when I look at it, I vividly remember feeling both overwhelmingly shattered and grateful at the same time. This was taken seven days after my mother passed. It was a gorgeous day. The sun had come out and was shining over the mountains as though it wanted to be especially beautiful for her that day. We lit one hundred butter lamps at the gompa in the village that morning and prayed for her.
This photo was taken by a dear friend of mine who sat with me and supported me during the heavy and heartbreaking loss of my mother. It wasn’t until two days after my mom had passed that I was able to utter the words to him. He could tell something was wrong. He asked me in a very concerned tone of voice “is everything ok?”. I couldn’t hold it in. The tears fell, my lip started to quiver and I shook my head back and forth trying to breathe normally and not hyperventilate. He sat in my living room and cried with me. He told me he would take me to the temple and we would light candles and pray for her. His wife joined us. Then, seven days later, the love of Mom’s life, her husband, died. I was desperately trying to hold myself together and keep from falling to the floor and having a meltdown. They were with me that day in the gompa and every day after that.
It was through this experience that I became part of a new family. They took care of me and fed me and made sure I wasn’t alone. They supported me and looked out for me as if I were their own blood and had known me all their life. They showed me love and compassion. The gratitude I have for them is unwavering and will never be forgotten. I’m not sure how I would have pulled through without them. Their friends and family became my friends and family. I could feel their love and support. It wasn’t just for a day or a week. It was constant and it was true.
Now, does this mean I would have wished for my mom and her husband to die? Hell no. Of course not. But, this miserable experience did offer something beautiful. It brought me closer to a family I already loved and admired and also brought an entire monastery of Monks into my life that soon felt like family as well. Interdependence. One would not have happened without the other. Gratitude. I am thankful for each experience in my life, both good and trying.
