I used to think that thankfulness was something to be done around a table on a Thursday in November. “What are you thankful for?” “I’m thankful for family, and food, and especially pumpkin pie.” But, I’ve discovered that there’s a little more to it, and in that discovery, I’ve found something truly beautiful.
For me, expressing thankfulness used to be something that was “nice” and “a good thing to do.” I have always said “thank you” for gifts and held doors and shouted it to the people in the dish room in Peirce at the end of every meal. I would make all of my friends share what they were thankful for at Peircegiving, and we would do it again with my family at Thanksgiving.
But giving thanks was always transactional. Someone did something for me, and in return, I said: “thank you.”
I’m not really sure what changed, but this past summer, thankfulness just started bubbling up in my heart. I would be going about my day, doing nothing in particular, and I would suddenly notice that a chorus of “thank yous” was running like a background music in my brain: quiet, but unending. I would catch myself smiling for no reason as I shelved books for my summer job in the library. Even the smallest things, like the way the light would stream through the 3rd-floor Olin windows around 10:00 every morning, or the sharp contrast between the summer heat and the cool library when I came back from lunch were infused with a quiet delight.
There was nothing extraordinary happening, but I felt so happy.
My summer housemates and I took this selfie when we went strawberry picking together. It is one of my favorite moments of the summer, and one of my favorite pictures ever.
As I’ve been reflecting on my summery happiness, I’ve realized that this thankfulness actually did have a beginning. It did not materialize from nothing, so much as crescendo from a single moment to a cascading waterfall of “thank you”s.
I realized one afternoon that true dreaming has to come from a place of thankfulness. It cannot come from a place of hopelessness, or it’s just fantasy. It cannot come from a place of entitlement, or it’s just arrogance. Thankfulness is the heart-posture of a dreamer.
So that day, as I was shelving books, I decided to practice. I gave thanks for everything I could think of, from the existence of ice cream to having a good job that I enjoyed and could live on. I gave thanks for dogs and for summer and for access to a great education, and for my favorite sandals. It was wonderful.
Then I kept doing it. Whenever I remembered, I listed five things I could be thankful for, and why. It became a habit, and then it became so common that I did it unconsciously. And it colored my days with happiness.
These are some of my favorite things: my leather journal, this beautiful book of photos and art and writing, and really good coffee.
So I learned to cultivate thankfulness as a habit of life. And it made everything I saw more beautiful.
Thankfulness starts with a decision to stop and savor things, to see their beauty, and recognize that they are gifts. It only takes a few moments of thankfulness to cascade into a habit. So my advice for this Thanksgiving: stop and give thanks for the roses.
Image Credit: Maggie Griffin