What are you thankful for?
If prompted, even those of us like myself who are naturally gratitude-impaired, could rather easily name what we consider to blessings or good fortune: our families, jobs, physical health, financial stability.
Yet as important and admirable as that is, I think it makes our gratitude slightly conditional; an incomplete, fair-weather thankfulness that leaves us dependent on favorable circumstances for appreciate hearts. The greater aspiration, is to figure out how to be thankful for terrible things; for all that we might see as reasons for hopelessness and cause for despair. I am trying.
I am trying to be thankful for the grief of the empty chairs.
Since losing my father five years ago, the holidays (like every moment since) have never been the same. The loss is ever-present. Once grief visits you, it irrevocably alters your story. No matter what else happens, those chairs will be forever empty, those spaces left by someone’s absence, never to be filled. On ordinary days, grief is always hovering close by, but it shows up every holiday without fail; to remind you of the separation, of what you no longer have, of what is now relegated to photographs and memories. It’s been said that grief is the tax on loving people, and in this way, we can measure our closeness to people we’ve lost then, by our heavy sadness now. For every chair that is empty for me these days, I’m doing my best to have gratitude for my grief, as confirmation that I had people worth missing; that this pain connects us even now.
I am trying to be thankful for my physical changes.
One morning a decade ago, I woke up at a youth group camping trip I was supervising, looked in the mirror and realized I’d slept on a sleeping bag cord, because I had a huge line across my forehead. I woke up the next morning and upon first seeing my reflection, thought I’d miraculously done it again, when to my horror I realized I hadn’t slept on anything either day—this is what my face looks like now! When I was younger, my body used to do what I asked it to do immediately, with complete compliance. We got along famously. Today, after nearly half a century, there is a conversation, there is negotiation. There are deals to me made. One day, there will be outright rebellion.
When we notice a different person in the mirror than the one we’ve grown accustomed to seeing, or we face new physical limitations, we usually see these as defeats, as reason for mourning. But can we see that physical wear and tear, as the souvenirs from the journey; our faces creased by hours of laughter and hard work; our bodies beautiful weathered by decades of morning runs and playtime with our toddlers, and dances with people we love. Can we find gratitude for aging bodies, that remind us we have lived well and long?
I am trying to be thankful for my enemies and adversaries.
I was recently having dinner with three women who met as new activists following the 2016 election. As the drinks arrived, one of them raised her glass and said with a wide smile, “Thank you, Donald Trump!” She then proceeded to tell me of her personal transformation, and of the community of affinity that developed as she’s found her voice. She is certain that the unprecedented difficulties of the past two years, have yield personal transformation and new relationships and world-changing partnerships, that would have never been birthed any other way.
The people who oppose us or criticize or malign us, help us clarify what matters to us, they help us find our hills worth dying on, and become catalysts for our change. In my life, I know that my adversaries, whether up close (family members, bosses, classmates, rivals) or from a distance (politicians or public figures), allowed or sometimes forced me to access reservoirs of strength and creativity and perseverance I never realized were there. In the stories we love, the villain always helps define the hero, showing them what they’re made of. Maybe we can find gratitude for what we’ve learned about ourselves when people have made life miserable for us?
I am trying to be thankful for my depression.
I’ll admit it’s a tall order to find a whole lot of gratitude for my mental illness, especially during times when there is such a pressure to be effusively happy. But like all personal burdens, depression can prepare you to be kinder toward the world around you. There is an empathy you develop for people who are hurting, when you understand what it’s like to have to overcome your own mind in order to experience the peace and joy that other people simply receive. You get how difficult it is to have the deepest of wounds that are largely invisible, and to work so hard to keep them that way. As much as I’d rather not carry these demons around in my head, I am grateful that my journey through those “dark nights of the soul,” helps me look for others who are also struggling in the darkness.
I am trying to be thankful for my mistakes and failures.
Like that eternal sage, painter Bob Ross so often said, “We don’t make mistakes, only happy accidents.” He believed you could craft something wonderful (a happy little tree), even out of a mess.) That’s usually only something we discover retroactively. In the moment, losing a job or a relationship, screwing up something as a parent, or missing a mark we tried so hard to attain in our careers or personal lives—simply feel like a glorious cluster—, another reminder of how we’ve once again fallen short or failed to be or do enough. But we know that we rarely find maturity or growth or wisdom in the victories or successes. It’s almost always when everything hits the fan and we hit or limits and our knees. In whatever feels like a colossal failure right now, can we have gratitude for what we are becoming in the middle of is.
Today, hope isn’t found in being thankful for the clear blessings and pleasant things, but for the gifts that come disguised in the terrible.
It’s easy to be grateful for the fragrant flowers in this life, but not the putrid manure and decomposition they spring from.
Today, give thanks even for the stinking messes, because something beautiful is growing there.
Get John’s book, ‘HOPE AND OTHER SUPERPOWERS’ here!
