Gratitude
To me, gratitude always sounds like something somebody else thinks you should have, as in “You should be grateful for all I’ve done for you.” It kind of takes the fun out of it.
What’s more, everyone I know has lavish amounts of everything they need – spacious homes, foods from every country and cuisine, outfits from gardening grubbies to night-on-the-town finery, assorted sports equipment, specialty appliances, art work, a PC in every room, and on and on. And still we generally go along, at best complacent, at worst complaining about this state of affairs, generally more aware of what we want next than appreciative of our astonishing plenty.
And I don’t mean to write a polemic about this, to suggest that we’re all ungrateful wretches and what about the starving children in [favorite Third World country]? I don’t want to advocate a Program of Gratitude or embarrass you into grudging acknowledgment of how good you have it. The human tendency to focus on what’s “wrong” and ignore what’s just fine is as common and as natural as saying “Ouch!” when we skin our knees. Our ancestral programming points our attention at what threatens our survival, not at how beautiful the corn fields are. So usually it takes a real shaking up, like losing someone we love, to awaken us to a different perspective. And even that change is often fleeting.
Still, it seems a shame to have all that we have and to be, in effect, missing it. And, it’s greatly cheering to spend a few moments appreciating the small delights that life delivers.
I love the way my husband smells of shaving cream when he kisses me in the morning.
I love to pull on a new pair of jeans – that comfort-blue color and the feel of stiff-soft denim.
I love the smell of spices on my hands as I “measure” them into the chili, the curry, or the cinnamon muffins.
I love the change of Midwest seasons, from daffodils to geraniums to Fall glory to evergreens frosted with snow.
I love how, when my friend tells a sad story, her beautiful chiseled face quivers ever so slightly, her voice softens and gets a little breathy, and I feel my own heart answer with compassion.
These moments of heart-opening don’t arise from deciding I should be Grateful. I do not recommend that you practice being Grateful. Instead I wish to whisper in your ear an admonition to be, simply, awake. Because when you’re awake to the smells, the touches, the current moment, gratitude happens by itself. It’s the rushing by that leaves us without gratitude.
I wish I could remember the author whose spiritual advisor taught him, “The single greatest enemy to spiritual practice is hurrying.” Gratitude happens when we’re here, now. Hurrying is what happens when we’re mentally already somewhere else, doing the next thing (or three things). When we hurry, when we’re feeling pressured and cranky, our focus telescopes into our own tiny brain space. We miss the world around us altogether and become preoccupied by our troubled thoughts.
On the other hand, when we allow ourselves to be fully here in the present moment, awake to the crunch of the leaves or the roll of thunder, the soap suds in the dishwater or the sound of a friend’s voice, gratitude takes care of itself. It’s all mixed up there with delight, awe, and joy. Easy. No Program required.
So attend, please. This second. Be here.
Gratitude cannot help but follow.
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