Gratitude and Contributions

There’s a robust rosemary bush situated in front our neighbor’s house directly at the end of our street, which lines the beginning route of our regular neighborhood stroll. Each time we round this corner, I reach out my hand, often subconsciously, and run my fingers through its wave of needles, snagging a few sprigs at the final moment (thankfully, we have friendly neighbors). Cupping my hands to my face, with unnecessary intensity, I inhale deeply. Then, the high begins to hit — like cookies in the oven, warm socks from the dryer, salted butter on toast — and I’m filled with a comfort that’s impossible to place or pin down. Memories, real or not, flood my psyche and make life feel like an invitation, as if the universe is saying: now now, sit down, put your feet up, dinner will be ready soon. I do my best to accept without hesitation.

Plenty of homes today are surely to be filled with a similar aroma, as rosemary, thyme, and other innocuous herbs become implicated in our various attempts at artery clogging. I’ll keep this month’s entry rather brief, justifying my sub par word count with obligations of turkey brining and family entertaining. But I hope that everyone else can also let themselves off the hook a bit today and embrace the opportunity to get responsibly high on their particular vices of comfort.

As with all holidays, Thanksgiving can come with it’s own set of complications — hence the various jokes and tips about navigating dinner table conversations with the uncle who’s seemingly dead-set on converting you to his newfound world view before pie is even served. But despite all the madness (whether at the table or beyond), it’s never a bad idea to pause and take stock of those things of which we’re most grateful.

Gratitude

Like Yoga or Mindfulness, Gratitude can sometimes feel like an industry. There’s no shortage of advice to “practice gratitude daily” and no shortage of bespoke journals to ensure we do so in the most optimal way. I’ve subscribe to the advice, bought the journals, and yet, can still find the whole glorification and proselytization (is that a word?) of “gratitude” to be…… annoying.

This could very well be a me problem.

But it might also be due to the fact that gratitude can often be overly simplified, flattened to “positive thinking”, and therefore sapped of it’s power and profundity.

In my searching for a more accurate definition, I stumbled back into an article I’d read a year ago from the writer Joshua Rotham: Why Is Gratitude So Difficult?. In it, Rotham explores our complex (and often misplaced) understanding of gratitude, and the philosophical notion that there might actually be two entirely different concepts associated with the term.

Manela is among the philosophers who believe that the single word “gratitude” actually refers to two ideas, which may or may not be related. The first is “prepositional” gratitude—gratitude to someone for something. You might be grateful to a lifeguard for saving you from drowning, for instance, or to your friend for watching your dog while you’re away. The second is “propositional” gratitude—a more general gratitude for the fact that things are the way they are. Perhaps you’re grateful for the weather on your wedding day, or grateful to be alive after a cancer scare.

Academic lingo aside, there’s something interesting here about delineating between our gratitude for the generous acts of others vs. our gratitude for **the fortunate experiences of life. The latter form, as the essay addresses, could simply be described as appreciation.

But that’s not to imply that appreciation comes simply.

Paradoxically, the grander the experience, the more challenging it can sometimes be to truly appreciate it. The writer and journalist Oliver Burkeman has a rather poignant and funny anecdote about a trip he took to see the Northern Lights, that captures this dilemma.

I threw some clothes over my full-body thermal underwear and stepped out under a cathedral sky, filled with moving curtains of green light, sweeping from horizon to horizon. I was determined to relish the exhibition, which the next morning locals would describe as a particularly impressive one. But the more I tried, the less I seemed able to do so. By the time I was getting ready to return to the warmth of my cabin, I was so far from being absorbed in the moment that a thought occurred to my mind, regarding the northern lights, which to this day I squirm to recall. Oh, I found myself thinking, they look like one of those screensavers.

While we may at times struggle to appreciate these screen-saver-esque landscapes, there are the unexpected moments where awe arises without any pretense: a random flurry of swallows overhead, a murder of crows near a stream, a persimmon tree.

Like trying to tickle yourself, you can’t plan to be surprised. But I know for myself, at least, I can often feel like I’ve accomplished some great feat (and deserve a pat on the back) if I’m able to stay still long enough for appreciation, with it’s seemingly butterfly-like temperament, to land softly in front of me. The most significant things are often hidden in the most insignificant of moments, and so, at risk of stating the obvious, we’re prone to miss out on a lot of goodness amidst our various states of hyper-stimulation (I once read a depressing stat that 67% of men would rather painfully shock themselves than sit quietly for 15 minutes). After all, you’ve got to actually stop to smell the roses.

Contributions

Appreciation is often the form of gratitude that makes its way around the Thanksgiving table, gravy dripping down our chins (health, safety, love, family, food). But if we’re only practicing this version of gratitude, we may risk overlooking the entire other realm that is much more relational, much more based on the contributions of other humans who’s existence has meaningfully improved the well being of our lives.

As Rotham describes it, there’s “a burden to this form of gratitude”, but one well worth carrying. We generally don’t want to be in debt, but what greater privilege than feeling like you’ll never be able to thank the people you love enough for all they’ve bestowed upon your life.

I’m stretching a little to make this connection, but when reflecting on this duality of gratitude I find myself remembering a recent Instagram clip from Adam Grant. In it, he explains the value of expanding our gratitude practice to also capture the ways we’ve contributed to things we care about. He argues that if we’re purely focused on what we’re grateful to have received, we risk getting stuck in a state of passivity — and a lot of our meaning, of course, comes from our sense of being a participant in the world and having (even the smallest) impact.

So if you happen to be reading this in an anticipation of acid indigestion, may we try and take a few minutes to pause and carry our “burdens of gratitude” by realizing the people in our lives who can at times make us crazy, also make it all so much richer than the gravy on the table.

A parting song

I know little to nothing about classical music. But now and then I’ll throw on Bay Area’s classical station (shout out to KDFC 90.3) while driving — often either attempts to feel peaceful or to try and fool myself into a state of sophistication.

Recently, they played Elevazione for Solo Oboe by Gordon Hunt, which I found moving enough to stop the car and jot down. I know nothing at all about the composer or the composition. But I liked it, and the wonderful thing about classical music is that maybe the beauty lies in not having to understand anything — which was touched on in a recent NYT Op-Ed.

But instrumental music is not “about” anything. It stirs the emotions despite — or maybe because of — its inability to reference our lived experience in any literal way. A great performance of a great piece of music simultaneously takes us out of our heads and puts us in touch with our deepest, most inaccessible selves. That is the magic of music.

A closing quote

I’m currently reading Raising Hare, a moving story about a women who stumbles into taking care of a wild hare and the emotionally layered journey that follows. In her review of the book, Maria Popova of the Marginalian, provides this beautiful opening that I thought was also a wonderful reminder of what’s required for true appreciation.

Narrow the aperture of your attention enough to take in any one thing fully, and it becomes a portal to everything. Anneal that attention enough so that you see whatever and whoever is before you free from expectation, unfiltered through your fantasies or needs, and it becomes love. Come to see anything or anyone this clearly — a falcon, or a mountain, or a patch of moss — and you will find yourself loving the world more deeply.