Welcome

Most mornings, I go for a walk and talk to myself out loud.

Like a crazy person.

I’m sure if any of my neighbors have witnessed this, they have questions.

But I’ve started doing this thing where I spend part of my morning deliberately focusing on gratitude.

Before I go out, I focus on my heart.

I try to find that feeling of warmth and safety.

And then I start walking.

And talking.

Out loud.

Usually, I have to start small.

I’m thankful I woke up this morning.

I’m thankful I got a good night’s sleep.

I’m thankful for my home.

I’m thankful for my kids.

I’m thankful for my husband.

I’m thankful for my body.

I’m thankful for my legs carrying me on this walk.

I’m thankful for my job.

I’m thankful I don’t binge anymore.

And somewhere along the way, something starts to happen.

At first, I’m intentionally naming things.

Find something else.

What else is good?

But then I don’t have to work as hard at it.

One thing leads to another.

And another.

And another.

I start actually feeling it.

Warm.

Safe.

Grateful.

Expansive.

That’s the best word I have for it.

My life feels bigger.

Possibility feels bigger.

I feel bigger somehow.

Not physically.

We’ve covered that enough around here.

I mean my world stops feeling so confined by whatever problem I’ve been staring at.

And that’s usually when my mind starts wandering toward the things I want.

The life I’m trying to create.

More freedom.

More money from my writing.

A bigger home for our family.

Work that feels exciting and meaningful.

And instead of thinking about those things from a place of I don’t have this yet, I start imagining them from the same gratitude I’m already feeling.

I imagine what I want as though I’m already there.

And I feel thankful for it.

Not because I can prove any of it is going to happen exactly the way I’m imagining.

I can’t.

But because something about imagining my future from that expansive place feels completely different from trying to figure out my future when I’m scared.

And holy shit, can I tell the difference.

Because I know the other version of this too.

Very well.

It’s the version where my brain starts collecting everything that isn’t working.

Work isn’t going the way I want.

My blog isn’t making the money I want it to make yet.

I’m not losing weight as quickly as I’d like.

We don’t have the bigger house yet.

I don’t know exactly what I’m doing with my future.

What if none of it works?

And suddenly my whole life feels…

small.

Heavy.

Hopeless.

Instead of wondering what could happen, I’m predicting everything that could go wrong.

Instead of seeing what I have, I’m staring at what I don’t.

And the weird thing is:

Nothing about my actual life has changed.

Same husband.

Same kids.

Same house.

Same body.

Same job.

Same blog.

Same unanswered questions.

But depending on what I’m focusing on, I can experience that exact same life as either:

Look at everything that’s wrong.

or

Holy shit. Look at everything I have.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.

Because I’ve spent a lot of my life believing my emotions were mostly a response to my circumstances.

Something good happens, I feel good.

Something bad happens, I feel bad.

Something isn’t working, I worry about it until it starts working.

Seems reasonable.

Except I’m starting to wonder how much the things I’m looking at over and over are affecting how my whole life feels.

I’ve seen what happens when I focus on shame.

My brain gets very good at finding more shame.

And lately I’ve been wondering:

If my brain can do that with shame…

what happens when I give it gratitude instead?

I think I’m starting to find out.

Because gratitude seems to work the same way.

I start with:

I’m thankful I woke up.

Which isn’t exactly groundbreaking.

But one thing leads to another.

And suddenly I’m seeing good everywhere.

Maybe none of it appeared because I became grateful.

It was already there.

That’s actually what fascinates me.

My backyard doesn’t become better because I appreciate it.

My kids don’t become more amazing because I notice how amazing they are.

My legs were perfectly capable of carrying me around before I thanked them for doing it.

The good was already there.

I just wasn’t always looking at it.

And maybe that’s what I’m realizing about the things that aren’t working too.

They’re real.

I’m not interested in pretending they’re not.

Gratitude doesn’t require me to look at something painful and announce, Actually, this is wonderful!

Some things suck.

Some things need to change.

Some things I desperately want haven’t happened yet.

I can acknowledge all of that.

But I don’t have to make those things the entire landscape of my life.

Because when I do, I become desperate to fix things.

I start looking at the future from fear.

How am I going to make this happen?

What if it doesn’t work?

What am I doing wrong?

But when I start from gratitude, wanting more doesn’t feel quite so desperate.

I can want the bigger house without making my current home inadequate.

I can want my writing to become something bigger without making where I am now a failure.

I can want my body to change while being thankful for the body carrying me around today.

I can want more and still feel like I already have a lot.

That might be the biggest difference.

I’ve spent plenty of time trying to create change from:

This isn’t enough.

I’m not enough.

My life isn’t where it should be.

Lately, I’m curious what happens if I create from:

My life is already really fucking good.

And I’m excited to see what else is possible.

Maybe that’s why I start imagining my future during those walks.

Once I’m feeling that way, possibility doesn’t feel ridiculous.

It feels natural.

So I let myself go there.

I picture the life I want.

I feel thankful for it.

I let myself experience it for a little while before there’s any evidence that it’s mine.

Maybe that’s manifestation.

Maybe it’s training my brain to notice different things.

Maybe it’s just what happens when I stop spending so much time staring at everything that’s wrong.

I don’t know.

I’m still figuring that part out.

But I don’t think I need to know exactly what to call it yet.

For now, I know what it feels like.

So tomorrow morning I’ll probably be wandering around my neighborhood again, talking to myself like a lunatic.

I’m thankful I woke up.

I’m thankful for my legs.

I’m thankful for my home.

And I’ll just keep going until I remember how much good was there all along.