Gratitude for the Little Things

The Gift

“Starting here, what do you want to remember? How sunlight creeps along a shining floor? What scent of old wood hovers, what softened sound from outside fills the air? Will you ever bring a better gift for the world than the breathing respect that you carry wherever you go right now? Are you waiting for time to show you some better thoughts? When you turn around, starting here, lift this new glimpse that you found; carry into evening all that you want from this day. This interval you spent reading or hearing this, keep it for life - What can anyone give you greater than now, starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?” William Stafford (“You Reading This, Be Ready”)

My friend, Linda, sent me this poem by William Stafford. Apparently, he wrote a poem everyday, including the day he died. This one is about gratitude—for right here, right now. It is about taking nothing for granted, not the shine on the floor, nor the scent of old wood, nor the interval you spend reading this. Life itself is a gift, not to be wasted or ignored. When we pay attention to the small stuff, the little details, like the “softened sounds from outside,” life becomes deeper and more interesting.

It is a good exercise from time to time, to spend a few minutes walking around your abode. Simply look at things. Notice the light falling on each piece of furniture, coming through the windows, lighting up the spaces, creating shadows. Look at the things you love, the photos and mementos. Remember why you love them, and from where they came; what memories are attached. When we pay attention to the details of what we already have, we are less inclined to want for more. Instead, we feel satisfied and grateful.

Today, this third day after Thanksgiving, count your blessings—the little ones, like sunlight, the color of the leaves, the veil of fog hanging in the air this morning. You possess the gift of life. “What can anyone give you greater than now?”

                                                                    In the Spirit,

                                                                        Jane