Cultivating Gratitude

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“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.”
Meister Eckhart


As we return to the beginning — to the basics — this week, we are landing on one of the most simple mindfulness practices:

gratitude

Gratitude is a standard practice in virtually every wisdom tradition and ethical system in the world. And it’s simple because it’s not as fraught with anxiety as some of the other practices we’ve explored. It doesn’t involve digging deep into our past or our behavior patterns, or exploring painful emotions.

Gratitude is defined by the Greater Good Science Center at the University of Berkeley as:

“appreciation, wonder, and reverence for what is given.”

Gratitude is the opposite of taking life for granted. It’s acknowledging all that has been given to us.

Even Adam Smith, the so-called father of modern capitalism, wrote “the duties of gratitude are perhaps the most sacred of those which the beneficent virtues prescribe to us.”

There are many ways we can practice gratitude — it can be as simple as pausing to say thank you before a meal, or it can be a formal practice, such as keeping a gratitude journal.

Luckily, we have researchers who study this stuff and have figured out the “minimum effective dose” for gratitude! Researchers McCullough and Emmons conducted a study of college students in 2003 and found that writing down just five things they were thankful for once a week was enough to see positive benefits. Click here for a template you can download for your Brilliant Binder so you can create your own weekly gratitude journal.

{You may also be interested in this post on my blog about starting a gratitude practice — and how to practice gratitude even when it’s hard.}

In the study mentioned above, the researchers found that practicing gratitude led to improved levels of happiness and physical health, a better cardiovascular profile, and more satisfying romantic relationships. Emmons writes that “people are actually more successful at reaching their goals when they consciously practice gratitude.” He further notes that “people made to keep a gratitude journal in my studies consistently report feeling more energetic, alive, awake, and alert.” Gratitude is good for us!

Gratitude is so powerful because it involves accepting impermanence. We don’t take things for granted because we know things can also be broken and gone. When we practice gratitude, we truly experience what has been given before it breaks. We stand in the fleeting nature of the moment. We have to be present to truly live and appreciate our life. Gratitude is fundamentally a practice of being present.

And you know what? There is ALWAYS something to be grateful for. Even on our darkest days, we have food to eat. Or a pillow to sob into. Or a friend to give a hug. Just because gratitude is simple doesn’t mean it’s easy — but the practice of choosing to find the good inclines the mind to goodness.

The mind takes on the shape of whatever it rests on. And we know from our previous lessons that the negativity bias of our brain means if we leave it to its own devices, the brain will rest on what is wrong and threatening. Gratitude rewires us for happiness.

As one of my teachers says, gratitude is a love letter to the universe.

I encourage you to write yours today.


What the Living Do

by Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss — we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

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