Gratitude
Almost 10 years ago, when Zach and I hosted Thanksgiving for friends out in California, one of our guests asked that we go around the table and each express something for which we were thankful. I remember it vividly because this friend is a recovering alcoholic, and he gave thanks for Bill W. and Dr. Bob, the men who co-founded Alcoholics Anonymous.
It was a very moving speech, and it has stayed with me ever since. Most years, especially if we are hosting the meal, Zach and I try to continue the tradition of going around the table and giving thanks. We missed doing that this year, so I'm going to take my turn now, a bit belatedly.
I am grateful for every small kindness that is done every day in every big city and small town around the world.
I am grateful that amid war and famine, amid disasters both natural and human-made, amid illness and crisis and calamity, people cling to their humanity, reach out to strangers and friends alike, and commit acts of selflessness every single day.
This has been an inordinately difficult year.
It's actually been two inordinately difficult years.
And when I think back to what has carried my little boat along, what has supplied wind to my sails or, more aptly, strength to my oars, it is the tiny gesture that comes when I am all but spent, overwhelmed and overloaded and seemingly overmatched.
People ask me all the time what they can do to help, and most of the time there isn't anything specific or concrete that I can suggest. Most of the time, I've got the grocery shopping and the cat-feeding and the laundry covered.
What I tend to need, I now realize, is a psychological respite—even a brief one. An emotional pit stop, if you will. A little tune-up for the spirits. Something that, for a few moments at least, washes away the grit of the day and steels me to go back and face that grit again.
So thank you for all of the supportive e-mail and phone messages.
For the sweet cards in the mail.
For the hurried cups of coffee between visiting hours.
For the quick cell-phone conversations on my way to and from the subway.
For the lovely Thanksgiving meal and the change of scenery it afforded.
For the early trip home from L.A.
For the well timed text messages.
For the small talk in the hospital corridors.
And for every other tiny, enormous show of kindness that has come my way.
It was a very moving speech, and it has stayed with me ever since. Most years, especially if we are hosting the meal, Zach and I try to continue the tradition of going around the table and giving thanks. We missed doing that this year, so I'm going to take my turn now, a bit belatedly.
I am grateful for every small kindness that is done every day in every big city and small town around the world.
I am grateful that amid war and famine, amid disasters both natural and human-made, amid illness and crisis and calamity, people cling to their humanity, reach out to strangers and friends alike, and commit acts of selflessness every single day.
This has been an inordinately difficult year.
It's actually been two inordinately difficult years.
And when I think back to what has carried my little boat along, what has supplied wind to my sails or, more aptly, strength to my oars, it is the tiny gesture that comes when I am all but spent, overwhelmed and overloaded and seemingly overmatched.
People ask me all the time what they can do to help, and most of the time there isn't anything specific or concrete that I can suggest. Most of the time, I've got the grocery shopping and the cat-feeding and the laundry covered.
What I tend to need, I now realize, is a psychological respite—even a brief one. An emotional pit stop, if you will. A little tune-up for the spirits. Something that, for a few moments at least, washes away the grit of the day and steels me to go back and face that grit again.
So thank you for all of the supportive e-mail and phone messages.
For the sweet cards in the mail.
For the hurried cups of coffee between visiting hours.
For the quick cell-phone conversations on my way to and from the subway.
For the lovely Thanksgiving meal and the change of scenery it afforded.
For the early trip home from L.A.
For the well timed text messages.
For the small talk in the hospital corridors.
And for every other tiny, enormous show of kindness that has come my way.
posted by Jody Rosen Knower at 8:41 AM
3 Comments:
Amen! It seems we are always saying "thank you" but I
hadn't thought of I'm thankful even in the midst of Thanksgiving season however I am extremely thankful in particular for that particular bubble of family good cheer and normalcy in the middle of chaos, thank you
Knowers, one and all.Barbara
thank you...for being my friend and role model.
xo
robin
time for more haiku ...
you give much more than you know
simply being you
Hmmm ... perhaps not the best effort ever. But, seriously, your blog was a gift of hope and understanding to both me and my mom when she was battling her stomach cancer. For that I am most grateful!
All the best,
Gerri
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