There was a time in my life—and it wasn’t all that long ago—that I had a somewhat strange definition of gratitude. I had appreciation—I even showed appreciation—and yet my idea of gratitude was, well . . . a little off-kilter.
November 1973. Richard Milhouse Nixon is still in office. The world doesn’t even know the meaning of “energy crisis,” and Tony Orlando and Dawn top the charts with their catchy hit Knock Three Times. Bell Bottoms and platform shoes are all the rage, Marshall Matt Dillon is still courting Miss Kitty in Gunsmoke, and I am in the third grade. In an effort to make Thanksgiving turkeys, we trace our hands on dull-brown construction paper while Mrs. MacGibbon explains to us the meaning of gratitude. Then--as is customary in the third grade--we are asked to make our own gratitude list. I take out my new box of Crayola crayons, carefully choose my favorite color, denim blue, and begin writing . . . my Close-n-Play phonograph, my new Family Affair lunchbox with the Mrs. Beasley thermos, my Partridge Family Album with the foldout poster of Keith Partridge inside and my genuine aluminum mood ring. I truly was grateful.
November 1993. George Bush—the original—is still in office, the new buzz word is “el Niño”, it seems like everyone is in love with the new P.T. Cruiser and I am now 28 years old. I am a happily married, young woman with a wonderful career and y gratitude list now revolved around the amenities my lifestyle provided. I thanked my higher power for my automatic car starter, my 800-thread count linen, and my Keurig Pro 2000 Single-Cup Coffee Maker. I had a sincere appreciation for my universal remote, my massaging showerhead with ten pulsating heads, and Chinese take-out. I appreciated anything and everything that made my life easier: Dyson vacuums, my 101 CD collection, and those little plastic yellow picks that hold piping hot corn-on-the-cob. I was grateful for many things, but they were all material things.
Then, on March 12, 1986 at 6:43 p.m., God saw fit to present me with a gift--the gift of life. My daughter, Katherine Elizabeth came screaming into the world headfirst and all of my gratitude for material things dissipated. Suddenly, every ounce of my gratitude revolved around one thing--her. I was grateful for her health, her smile, and the warmth of her little 6-pound 12 ounce body. I appreciated, her chubby knuckles with the dimples on the back, those plump folds in her soft, pink neck, I even grinned at her first poop! I was grateful for her life.
November 2007. As we all know, it was at this point in my life that I had lost all my gratitude. Somehow, I had allowed alcohol to become the only thing for which I cared. I took for granted my beautiful (now 21 yeas old) daughter. I lost all appreciation for her and what she meant to me. I no longer treasured the gift of life that was my daughter and I am ashamed to admit that I no longer treasured anything except that which would help me to escape and forget.
Then, in June of 2009, I got help. Once again, I began to have and show appreciation. I’ve thankfully changed. I’ve been given another chance—another opportunity to reassess my life and take stock in those things that really do matter. My gratitude today is endless—it really is. I appreciate so many things. I value my education, my health, and my dream to be a writer. I treasure a supportive family, my newfound integrity, and my sobriety. I am once again thankful for my daughter and now, I can proudly say that I am grateful for a grandson, too. I’m grateful for my spirituality, my wisdom, and my kindness. I’m eternally thankful for my hopes and my aspirations. And I am grateful, once again, for life--but this time, I’m grateful for my life.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Gratitude is an Attitude
There was a time in my life—and it wasn’t all that long ago—that I had a somewhat strange definition of gratitude. I had appreciation—I even showed appreciation—and yet my idea of gratitude was, well . . . a little off-kilter.
November 1973. Richard Milhouse Nixon is still in office. The world doesn’t even know the meaning of “energy crisis,” and Tony Orlando and Dawn top the charts with their catchy hit Knock Three Times. Bell Bottoms and platform shoes are all the rage, Marshall Matt Dillon is still courting Miss Kitty in Gunsmoke, and I am in the third grade. In an effort to make Thanksgiving turkeys, we trace our hands on dull-brown construction paper while Mrs. MacGibbon explains to us the meaning of gratitude. Then--as is customary in the third grade--we are asked to make our own gratitude list. I take out my new box of Crayola crayons, carefully choose my favorite color, denim blue, and begin writing . . . my Close-n-Play phonograph, my new Family Affair lunchbox with the Mrs. Beasley thermos, my Partridge Family Album with the foldout poster of Keith Partridge inside and my genuine aluminum mood ring. I truly was grateful.
November 1993. George Bush—the original—is still in office, the new buzz word is “el Niño”, it seems like everyone is in love with the new P.T. Cruiser and I am now 28 years old. I am a happily married, young woman with a wonderful career and y gratitude list now revolved around the amenities my lifestyle provided. I thanked my higher power for my automatic car starter, my 800-thread count linen, and my Keurig Pro 2000 Single-Cup Coffee Maker. I had a sincere appreciation for my universal remote, my massaging showerhead with ten pulsating heads, and Chinese take-out. I appreciated anything and everything that made my life easier: Dyson vacuums, my 101 CD collection, and those little plastic yellow picks that hold piping hot corn-on-the-cob. I was grateful for many things, but they were all material things.
Then, on March 12, 1986 at 6:43 p.m., God saw fit to present me with a gift--the gift of life. My daughter, Katherine Elizabeth came screaming into the world headfirst and all of my gratitude for material things dissipated. Suddenly, every ounce of my gratitude revolved around one thing--her. I was grateful for her health, her smile, and the warmth of her little 6-pound 12 ounce body. I appreciated, her chubby knuckles with the dimples on the back, those plump folds in her soft, pink neck, I even grinned at her first poop! I was grateful for her life.
November 2007. As we all know, it was at this point in my life that I had lost all my gratitude. Somehow, I had allowed alcohol to become the only thing for which I cared. I took for granted my beautiful (now 21 yeas old) daughter. I lost all appreciation for her and what she meant to me. I no longer treasured the gift of life that was my daughter and I am ashamed to admit that I no longer treasured anything except that which would help me to escape and forget.
Then, in June of 2009, I got help. Once again, I began to have and show appreciation. I’ve thankfully changed. I’ve been given another chance—another opportunity to reassess my life and take stock in those things that really do matter. My gratitude today is endless—it really is. I appreciate so many things. I value my education, my health, and my dream to be a writer. I treasure a supportive family, my newfound integrity, and my sobriety. I am once again thankful for my daughter and now, I can proudly say that I am grateful for a grandson, too. I’m grateful for my spirituality, my wisdom, and my kindness. I’m eternally thankful for my hopes and my aspirations. And I am grateful, once again, for life--but this time, I’m grateful for my life.
November 1973. Richard Milhouse Nixon is still in office. The world doesn’t even know the meaning of “energy crisis,” and Tony Orlando and Dawn top the charts with their catchy hit Knock Three Times. Bell Bottoms and platform shoes are all the rage, Marshall Matt Dillon is still courting Miss Kitty in Gunsmoke, and I am in the third grade. In an effort to make Thanksgiving turkeys, we trace our hands on dull-brown construction paper while Mrs. MacGibbon explains to us the meaning of gratitude. Then--as is customary in the third grade--we are asked to make our own gratitude list. I take out my new box of Crayola crayons, carefully choose my favorite color, denim blue, and begin writing . . . my Close-n-Play phonograph, my new Family Affair lunchbox with the Mrs. Beasley thermos, my Partridge Family Album with the foldout poster of Keith Partridge inside and my genuine aluminum mood ring. I truly was grateful.
November 1993. George Bush—the original—is still in office, the new buzz word is “el Niño”, it seems like everyone is in love with the new P.T. Cruiser and I am now 28 years old. I am a happily married, young woman with a wonderful career and y gratitude list now revolved around the amenities my lifestyle provided. I thanked my higher power for my automatic car starter, my 800-thread count linen, and my Keurig Pro 2000 Single-Cup Coffee Maker. I had a sincere appreciation for my universal remote, my massaging showerhead with ten pulsating heads, and Chinese take-out. I appreciated anything and everything that made my life easier: Dyson vacuums, my 101 CD collection, and those little plastic yellow picks that hold piping hot corn-on-the-cob. I was grateful for many things, but they were all material things.
Then, on March 12, 1986 at 6:43 p.m., God saw fit to present me with a gift--the gift of life. My daughter, Katherine Elizabeth came screaming into the world headfirst and all of my gratitude for material things dissipated. Suddenly, every ounce of my gratitude revolved around one thing--her. I was grateful for her health, her smile, and the warmth of her little 6-pound 12 ounce body. I appreciated, her chubby knuckles with the dimples on the back, those plump folds in her soft, pink neck, I even grinned at her first poop! I was grateful for her life.
November 2007. As we all know, it was at this point in my life that I had lost all my gratitude. Somehow, I had allowed alcohol to become the only thing for which I cared. I took for granted my beautiful (now 21 yeas old) daughter. I lost all appreciation for her and what she meant to me. I no longer treasured the gift of life that was my daughter and I am ashamed to admit that I no longer treasured anything except that which would help me to escape and forget.
Then, in June of 2009, I got help. Once again, I began to have and show appreciation. I’ve thankfully changed. I’ve been given another chance—another opportunity to reassess my life and take stock in those things that really do matter. My gratitude today is endless—it really is. I appreciate so many things. I value my education, my health, and my dream to be a writer. I treasure a supportive family, my newfound integrity, and my sobriety. I am once again thankful for my daughter and now, I can proudly say that I am grateful for a grandson, too. I’m grateful for my spirituality, my wisdom, and my kindness. I’m eternally thankful for my hopes and my aspirations. And I am grateful, once again, for life--but this time, I’m grateful for my life.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment