365 Days of Gratitude

 

202 days of gratitude, more accurately, spread out over 365 days. That’s the number of days I actually wrote in a gratitude journal over the past year, in an attempt to increase a feeling of gratitude in my life.

Looking at my life from the outside, you might have wondered why I would need to embark on a “gratitude enhancement project” at all. After all, I had it pretty good. Damned good, really. It might have been fair to say, even, that I hadn’t a single legitimate thing in the world to grumble about. 

And yet, I did grumble, and not infrequently. I grumbled about my job. I grumbled about life’s tediums and repetitions, its relentless paces and pressures. I grumbled about the imaginary oppressiveness of my comfortably middle class existence — its endless meetings, constant hassles, bottomless responsibilities, ceaseless demands.

I know this sounds absurd. I knew it was absurd. How could someone as immeasurably fortunate as I manage to achieve such persistent levels of disgruntlement? It seemed implausible, but there it was, and therein also contained the rub: that there is a big difference between knowing one should be grateful and actually feeling grateful. And this is what I set out to address.

The gratitude journal, I reasoned, would help to rewrite the negative thinking code seemingly embedded on my hard drive/noggin, and replace it with . . . well, gratitude. Perhaps, through sheer force of will and disciplined regimentation, I could invoke some of that biomolecular wizardry that turned Scrooge into a kindly old benefactor and made the Grinch’s heart grow three sizes that magical Christmas morning in Whoville. This was the plan. It seemed worth a shot.

To give myself the best chance, I opted to make it as simple as I could. No long narratives, nothing difficult or time consuming. My practice involved simply keeping a blank notebook next to my bed and jotting down five quick things each night, bullet-point style, that I was thankful for. Most nights, it was easy. Some nights, more difficult, but I always managed to come up with five without too much trouble. That’s a total of 1,010 gratitude morsels in all, or just under three a day, on average.

And what were the results? Did it work? Was I “cured?” Did I emerge from my dour Dickensian daze a new man, doling out metaphorical Christmas gooses to a world I previously took for granted? Mmm . . . not exactly. But I’m still glad that I did it. Here’s why:

First, while the results may not have been as dramatic as I’d hoped, I did benefit from my gratitude practice. There is value, I found, in taking a few moments each day to reflect upon the myriad blessings in our lives, even the most seemingly ordinary among them: warm socks, toothpaste, clouds; the return of robins in Spring, a soaring raptor overhead; worms, grass, meteors, bees; our breath; running water, a pair of comfortable jeans . . .

We are all, to varying degrees, immersed in simple beauty; awash in conveniences and comforts that all but the tiniest sliver of humanity has ever seen, experienced, or even imagined. Thinking about these things, focusing on them, marveling in them, is important somehow. It puts our troubles in some semblance of context. It nudges us in the direction of positivity, exposing our petty grievances for the frauds that they are. It’s slow, mildly tedious work, but over time, it can have a noticeable effect. And it did in my case. Looking back, I can say with certain confidence that I am less negative now than I when I began. Do I still grumble? Yes, and still with some frequency. But I’ve gained important ground, made a forward advance. This is good.

But I realize now that it was not a magic pill. There is much more to the gratitude game, I learned, than simply telling yourself what you’re grateful for. And while it took doing it mostly wrong for an entire year to even begin to understand this, some important realizations have begun to emerge and take root as a result of this effort.

It started as I began pouring over the past year’s entries, looking to see if any insights could be gleaned from them. When doing so, I noticed the names of quite a few people that I had expressed gratitude for in my journal: friends and acquaintances; people I work for and with; my family, of course, both immediate and extended; and various others to whom I owe a debt of gratitude, in one way or another. Yet, as I saw those names scroll by, I couldn’t escape the heavy realization that, with few exceptions, I had done a mostly miserable job of actually expressing my gratitude to them. How could this have escaped me?

As it turns out, it was easy. I’ve realized there are a thousand things that can keep us from expressing our gratitude to others. Things like pride, jealousy, fear, and self doubt; petty resentments, pent up frustrations; hidden scars, buried wounds. Sometimes, other people show us love in ways we don’t understand, or which get under our skin, or even hurt us unintentionally. Perhaps, in some cases, people who love us hurt us in even worse ways — ways that are intentional, abusive, or neglectful. Perhaps they are dealing with their own pride, fears, or resentments, their own scars and wounds, and are scarcely better at expressing gratitude for us than we are for them. Relationships are complex. Human beings struggle. Families are dysfunctional. People hurt other people. Feelings get damaged and muddled and bottled up inside of us.

But while it may be explainable, or even justifiable, in any number of ways, bottling up our gratitude is incredibly destructive. Moreover, bottled up gratitude isn’t really gratitude at all. Gratitude not expressed— not coupled with action—is impotent and unrealized. It is mere potential energy. It is that novel you hope to one day write, that place you plan to someday visit, that girl you’ll one day get the courage to ask out. Gratitude without action is, ultimately, regret.

And as I contemplated this, a second, deeper understanding began to take hold: that gratitude, in essence, is nothing less than a realization and expression of true self. It is our authenticity. Rather than something external that needs to be found or earned, it already exists inside us, in abundance, waiting to be realized. We merely have to allow it to come out. And we do this not by thinking or analyzing or making lists, but by taking concrete actions in alignment with our true selves. We do it the same way we begin to finally tackle that novel—by setting aside our doubts and protestations, pulling up chair to desk, and simply beginning to write, one small keystroke at a time.

So, I have a new goal for the coming year, at once simple and ambitious: to live my life as though I am truly grateful for the gift that it is, grateful for the people and things within it, and the tools I have been given to navigate through it.

Will it work? Check back in 365 days and I’ll let you know 🙂

Best,

T

Photo: I snapped this on a frosty Fall morning a couple of years ago @ Payette Lake in McCall, ID. It’s one of my favorites. Copyright Tim Fearnside, all rights reserved.