On Gratitude.

This video popped up recently on Facebook, and I’m such a fan of Brene Brown that I watched it.  It puts into words something I’ve believed much of my adult life, and it’s been resonating through my brain in the last few weeks.

“I’ve never interviewed a single person who talks about the capacity to really experience and soften into joy who does not actively practice gratitude.”

“When we lose our tolerance for vulnerability, joy becomes foreboding”.  Moments of joy become moments of terror; we wonder when the other shoe will drop, when all this goodness will be taken from us, when we will feel the pain and the grief that we know is coming, and we don’t allow ourselves to fully embrace and feel joy.

I totally get this. I’m sure I’ve written before, but I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, because somehow it feels completely unfair that my life should be as awesome as it is when there is horrific tragedy around the world and I can’t possibly feel too much joy because I don’t think I can survive the pain that is sure to be on its heels, someday or somewhere.

It’s such garbage.

What do the joyful people do? The people that really do soften into that experience of and abundance of goodness? They get that shudder of fear too, but they practice gratitude. Fear is not the boss of them.  Fear is not the boss of me. Gratitude is a practice, not an attitude.

So as I’m wandering through what kind of feels like a desert season, I want to soften into the joy.  I don’t want to miss those moments.  I don’t want to dwell on the hurt and the pain, the fractured relationships, the mad controlling monster inside of me that spends hours at the gym or cleaning or organizing something because even though my life feels out of control, at least I can be organized/clean/skinny/whatever. I want to soften into the joy, into the opportunity to laugh and smile and be awed and amazed and grateful. 

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The afternoon that Harvard and I broke up could have been terrible.  I could have fallen into the depths of despair, wondering who I am without this and what will become of my life and how do I explain this to people who don’t really get it and what will everyone think.  But I didn’t let that happen.  I walked home in the sunshine, the entire time thinking of what I’m grateful for – for the experience, for the great people I met, for the things I’ve learned including how not to do things and the questions to ask before accepting any job in the future.  I went home and I cried a little, grieving the death of the future I had dreamed we might have together. And then I went as planned to the soup kitchen I volunteer at, washing millions of dishes and pots and pans and utensils used by beautiful souls who are really struggling and can experience a small bit of joy in a warm, filling meal served by people who see them and care. 

Let me tell you, if you ever think your life is hard, volunteer at a soup kitchen or a childrens hospital or on a big white ship in Africa or a refugee center or somewhere, anywhere… serve. You can’t help but feel gratitude, not in a sick sort of I’m so glad my life is better than theirs but in a humbling, awe-insipiring thank you for using me. Thank you for these plates and this clean water to wash them in and the food that was on them that now fills the bellies of those who really know hunger and the people that all came together to make this happen and serve and give and lay ourselves down for someone else.  It’s beautiful.

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On the last hurrah this fall granted us, before the icy winds started to blow and the final leaves fell and the scarves and mittens and wool coats had to be dug out of the basement, I embraced the gift of freedom and biked out to Walden Pond.  This is where Thoreau wrote Walden, a wonderful bit of literature that I highly recommend reading.  It was the longest bike ride I’ve ever done; about 45 miles in total, plus a lot of exploring the area once I got there. It was glorious. It was a random Thursday in early November which meant no crowds to disrupt the beauty that is seeing and breathing and listening to the still small whisper that somehow seems clearer away from the clutter of the city and home and pressures there. I’m so grateful for a bike that I love that fits me perfectly; for a body that is strong and healthy and knocked out those 45 miles with only minimal discomfort (honestly, the last few miles everything hurt and I didn’t know if I would make it, but that’s all forgotten rather quickly).  I’m grateful for the beauty that waited for me there, for the whispers of hope and healing and goodness for the future in the rustling and falling of the leaves into the crystal clear water, for the clean crisp air and the gift of time to follow my heart wherever it wanted to wander.  I’m grateful for the state and the country that preserves these bits of glorious nature where a soul can breathe, where beauty heals, where the wind speaks and the heart can soar like the eagles above.

“Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.” 
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

“I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” 
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

“Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.” 
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

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This girl. What a treasure.  Friends since high school, while our storylines have diverged  to opposite ends of the spectrum our hearts remain intertwined, and I’m so incredibly grateful.  She’s in the air national guard and has been activated to DC for hurricane response, and I was finally able to use some old United miles I accumulated few years ago!  We visited the Smithsonian, National Archives, Mount Vernon, and a few other places!  

I was captivated by the rainbow of gemstones and jewels on display at the Smithsonian.

Beautiful fall day in DC.

The General and Mrs Washington came for a visit at Mount Vernon, it was fascinating! 

I'm grateful for a country that preserves history the way we have; I'm grateful for historians and museum scholars and art history people and those workers that are so passionate about that kind of thing - because I'm not, at all, but enjoy looking at it.  I'm grateful for the opportunity to spend quality time with my friend in a beautiful place on a beautiful Veterans Day weekend.  

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I just ran nine and a half miles…  and it wasn’t even that hard, really. I do need some new shoes.  But I’m so grateful for a strong body that is healthy and fit that can peel off nine and a half miles and still get to spin class tomorrow.  I’d like to run a marathon in 2018.  I’ve run two half marathons but never the whole distance, and it feels a little crazy, but I’ve never let that stop me before.  I can’t commit at the moment because I don’t know where I’ll be living or working yet, but holding it out there as a big hairy audacious goal for 2018.  I’m so grateful I get the opportunity to even consider something like that.  I’m grateful for my running friends who cheer me on and encourage me and inspire me to reach for greater than I think I’m capable of. 

After my run I came home to an apartment I love and a roommate who is fabulous, and I made a huge salad filled with healthy ingredients and vitamins and flavors and textures and I’m so grateful for all of those things. I brushed my teeth in water right from the tap without fear of cholera or typhoid or intestinal parasites; I’m going to sleep tonight in a warm, comfortable bed where I don’t need to worry about my safety or security, and I get the joy of another day tomorrow, to be light and bring life and serve and love and grow and learn and expand my horizons beyond what I see. 

I wrote earlier in this post it feels like I’m in a bit of a desert season… and I take it back. It’s not. At all. It’s a season of abundance, and greatness, and joy, and promise and hope and peace.  And I’m so grateful.

xxk