A Thank You Practice

I wrote two thank you notes yesterday morning. It was a morning where I was out of sorts. I had a leftover ache from a rejection the day before. And a new self-imposed pain from comparing myself to people who just seemed to have a more wonderful way of being in the world than me.

I tried - unsuccessfully, you should know - filling up on distraction: I listened to a podcast about street gangs. I bought yogurt, toilet paper, a vanilla-scented candle. I swept under my shoe rack and even over by the wireless router.

But I couldn't shake it. I remained standing still in vulnerability.

So, I did something I often do when I'm vulnerable: I thought about friends who'd been in this place, who knew the ache and pain of it, and who'd grown and rose in it.

And then I did something I don't do often enough: I wrote these people thank you notes.

Friend, I wrote, I couldn't find my footing this morning. I was unsteady, unsure, lonely. But I thought about you. And I felt less of all those things. Thank you.

I sent my notes. And I thought, This might be worth doing again, this thank you practice.

I was vulnerable, still. But I was grateful now, too.

And grateful is a wonderful way of being in the world.

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