Cultivating Gratitude

They say a refrigerator is a window into a household's soul, and here is a snapshot of mine.

Chaos.

Art. Letters. Soccer schedules. Postcards. Important phone numbers. Mismatched magnets. Cousins. Inspiring quotes. And yes: this bumper sticker from Cafe Gratitude in Marin County.

More on that another time.

But at the cafe, after you have eaten your gourmet raw food meal you must have a real conversation with your waiter/waitress, about what you are grateful for. You can be ironic, smart-alecky or closed, but they are always open, and for one brief moment you bare your soul to a stranger.

I like the exercise. As you can see, I bought the bumper sticker.

I make the boys say what they are grateful for each night at dinner before we eat. Benji always goes first, and he goes on and on and on. He really is grateful for every little thing. He always ends with: And I am grateful for you and you and you. He breaks my heart every time.

Theo eats while Benji talks (we have had to put a time limit on him, because he really could go on for half an hour) and then says: I am grateful for my family, or something else quick and cliched. On special nights he is very grateful for one fantastic thing. And then he is heartfelt and sincere.

Jonathan always tries to get out of it (the cultivation of gratitude is something he appreciates, but somehow cannot quite get himself to dive into. He likes to be around it, but not to fully engage in it. When forced, he always says: My family. Or, My health.

He means it, but because he always says the same thing it loses some punch.

By the time it is my turn everyone is so hungry I barely have time to speak. And that is OK.

All of this is to say, we play the gratitude game, and I believe in cultivating gratitude. I know it is easier to be cynical and skeptical, and harder to appreciate. Corny, even. Such outpourings are definitely veering into the realm of the flaky, the hippy dippy and the slightly stoopid.

I grew up around a lot of negativity, so I like the exercise, even if it is just a window onto a possible different way of being.

But now, as part of my all around tune-up for my story (from meditating to diet to reframing how I think) I was actually given a prescription by an extremely intelligent doctor. Part of my homework, to reframe, in the style of cognitive therapy, is to keep a Gratitude Journal.

Now this concept has gained such credence among the New Age crowd I feel sort of over it before I have started. But my job now (since this is all part of my story) is to use myself as a guinea pig. I must suspend my disbelief and just do it and see what happens.

The gratitude journal idea comes from Robert Emmons, a reknowned positive psychologist, who teaches at UC Davis. On his web page is his picture: with him grinning so widely it looks fake or drug induced. But his studies, and the reason for his studies are fascinating. And the upshot is, medically speaking, cultivating gratitude can help heal you, and can likely prevent some disease.

(Indeed, my cultivate gratitude prescription was part of my "keep-your-body-cancer-unfriendly" action plan).

So I chose my journal, one with textured recycled paper and a pear on the front. I have only written in it for three days now. I cannot say my mindset has changed in any deep way.

But here is what is fascinating to me. The journal, where I simply list three things a day that I am grateful for, is teaching me so much about myself. It is separating out for me what I believe makes me happy, from what really makes me happy. It is breaking down my own mythology on some level, about who I am and what I want.

Ok, perhaps I am jumping the gun here. But here is an example. I am the kind of person who limps along with slightly broken things for too long. As long as it still works, I am OK. I do not go take care of it.

But in my three days I found that fixing things, or getting things fixed, is actually something that makes me very happy. Something that tops my day.

Maybe I need to pay more attention to that.

Also, writing these things down, only three, reminds me of how much joy my children really bring me. Every day. I mean, on some level, sure, I know that. But every day, something that one or both of them does, ranks as the highlight of my day. Top three.

In a world that does not place much value on motherhood, mothering, the value of mothering, just this simple listing of daily gratitude reminds me: whatever kids do for anyone else, my boys bring me joy every single day. Not in the abstract. Not in the "but of course they do" way, in a concrete, deep, ephemeral, "that-was-a-beautiful-moment" kinduva way.

That is a sweet, sweet lesson.

What about you. Have you ever kept a gratitude journal?

Did it feel frivolous? Interesting? Did it change you over time?

Do tell!