I forget to be grateful.
Next to my bed, I have a worksheet that was given to me by my psychologist, a step-by-step guide on how to manage my mental health without her. The last step, at the end of each day, is to practice gratitude. I am supposed to lie there and think of three things I am grateful for.
But it's so hard. The immediacy of my everyday life demands constant attention, and, well, it's my reality and I get caught up in the things that are scary and difficult and confusing and frustrating and mundane.
And yet the world keeps turning, every day someone's most treasured loved one dies. Every day people around the world suffer barrages of military fire. People live in fear of violence, wildfires ravage, the earth shakes, cancers are diagnosed and cars crash.
The world is littered with tragedy. I am constantly afraid of mortality, yet, I go about each day as if forever is guaranteed.
How do I reconcile my trivial frustrations when they pale in comparison to the real horrors of the world? I don't think anyone has it figured out, but I guess all I can do is hope.
Amidst my complaints, I hope to remember my capacity for gratitude. Navigating the complexities of life isn't necessarily about diminishing our feelings, but instead framing them within the broader context. Rather, it's about understanding our place in a world that is vast and often harsh and then seeing the bigger picture; acknowledging the privilege we hold.
And in that recognition, perhaps we can find a path to a more nuanced understanding of the world around us. A world where our gratitude can be a radical act of self-awareness and empathy.
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