Gratitude

Much More Beautiful Alive

Gratitude is an attitude. It is more than saying "thanks" blandly or writing a note in response to receiving a present. Gratitude is a developed consciousness of appreciation. In order to experience the joy of gratitude, I must first examine the contributions which others have made to my life without sentimental neediness. In other words, I must learn to recognize and appreciate words and actions which may even seemed hurtful at the time but later proved beneficial to the quality of my mental/physical life, as I owned and developed it. 

Gratitude is the key to loving my enemies or tormentors. The development of gratitude as an integral part of my personality also feeds my own practice of generosity. Gratitude is essential for unobstructed learning. That is learning freed from constraints of egoistic defensiveness. For example, when an angry demented person on the street acts bizarrely and aggressively nearby, I am grateful to him for his warning to cut a wide path around him. This prevents me from falling into the trap of trying to control or fix him. 

How did I come to this understanding of gratitude? I was raised under severe conditions of controlling behavior within my family. My natural personality, which was optimistic and also vulnerable, was perceived as offensive by my mother, who was angry and depressed. My father, a bipolar jock, was embarrassed by my lack of masculine competitiveness. My one sibling was over 6 years older. My maternal grandmother, who lived with us, was angry and depressed as well. My maiden paternal aunt, who lived with us for a decade, was depressive and lived in perpetual religiously inspired denial. As the youngest in the household, I became the messenger, the puppet, the easy object upon which to dump whatever angst was around at the moment. Under the guise of being sheltering, the adults each tried to shape me in his/her own image. 

As the cloud of confused neurosis cleared after I extricated myself from this home environment at 20, I gradually realized that I had comparatively useful skills, compared to my peers. My mother had beaten abstemious cleanliness into me. She had also tolerated my watching her cook as a way to watch me while doing her housework. My father had used me as a common laborer in his perpetual home improvements. Sharing a room with my older brother helped me develop some strength by learning to defend myself. My grandmother's peasant ways taught me gardening skills and sensitivity to seasonal changes. My aunt, who lived a solitary life in our basement, showed me that being alone wasn't always bad. 

The bumps and bruises of my childhood have gradually faded. The kernel skills gained from them have stayed and developed. The harsh Jesuits who openly mocked my local accent in my first year of prep school now seem like wise benefactors. The dean of Harvard Dental School who said he did my admissions interview in order to meet the young man with enough gall or stupidity to apply to his school with my poor qualifying-exam scores now seems like a helpful tutor on the ways of the elite. 

Working with these experiences, as opposed to reacting against or denying their memory, is the grist of self-development. Gratitude blossoms from their compost, as sentimental (self-pitying) pain dissolves into mature understanding. I realized that some of those I hated most in youth were my best teachers about life. The consciousness of gratitude as part of daily awareness becomes anticipatory during unpleasant or stressful situations. Instead of becoming immersed in emotional reaction, allowing the understanding to surface that even the most disgusting experiences (and people) yield practical knowledge is a form of liberation for which to be grateful to my own mind.