I’ve been thinking about gratitude lately.
Not because something terrible happened, but because I realized how little I truly appreciate the life I already have.
Growing up, I was incredibly fortunate. I had a home. Two loving parents. Friends to spend my days with. Food on the table. The freedom to chase hobbies and dreams. Looking back, I had many of the things some people quietly wish for.
Yet I never stopped to appreciate any of it. The strange part to me is that I still don’t — or can’t.
I have a stable job. I get to go for a run on a summer morning with the sun shining on my face, sweating — there is no better feeling than the sweat after a strong run, believe me. I can buy myself an iced coffee on the way home from work. I laugh with my colleagues, and every evening I return to a home and a family that loves me.
None of those things feel extraordinary. They’ve become normal.
Maybe that’s what happens to all of us.
We adapt to the life we have so quickly that yesterday’s dream quietly becomes today’s expectation.
As I’m writing this, I have started to wonder whether gratitude is something that comes naturally with age, or whether it’s something we have to practice intentionally and force ourselves a little to feel. Maybe that’s why writing my thoughts matters, as it forces me to take a break, pause and really notice what’s invisible, and give full attention to my thoughts quietly.
Nothing extraordinary happened today; most days lately, since getting a job, feel the same. But I don’t mind. Maybe that is exactly what makes those days remarkable. The fact that I’m okay. I’m not stressed out over my job. I have good people around me. I can sustain a healthy routine. I am happy enough.
One thing that I read recently and keep in my mind was that I have to imagine my 80-year-old self looking back, remembering days like this. How would I remember today? The summer heat causing my chest to sweat, the dry 1.80€ brioche I just ate before writing this, the music playing in the background of this cafe… Maybe he’d remember having parents to visit after work, a place to call home?
One thing is for sure.
He’d remember this ordinary Friday as one day he’d love to live just one more time.
And just because of that, this day should feel special. Because of that, this day is special to me.
So this is a reminder to me and to you to slow down. Notice the loud people annoying you, the music, the heat, the weather.
Enjoy it, live it, just for a moment, because one day — tomorrow, in just an hour — it will remain only as a memory.
– L