The Unlikely Gratitude Jar

            This stretch of time at home has given me some unexpected opportunities such as becoming an expert at scaring the woodpeckers that mistake the house for a tree; cleaning obscure objects like a pellet stove; and experimenting with cooking.  Aside from those amusements, I have the time for introspection, which was something I hadn’t allotted quite enough time for during college.  Reflection has made me aware of the ways I have changed since living away from home.  A crucial part of that change began with gratitude.

            Paradoxically, my path towards gratitude began by not noticing it at all.  A gratitude jar did not fit into the person I thought I was throughout most of my adolescence.  Hence, if you had told me at any point during this time that I would one day have a gratitude jar, I would given you the look that Wednesday Addams gave to her fellow “Kumbaya” singing summer campers. (Here)  It was because the heart of my adolescent self-image was built around the idea that the external dictated the internal.  One of the more difficult offshoots of this idea was that I constantly compared myself to what I thought a teenager should be.  I felt oddly guilty about my introverted tendencies like dancing alone in my room to self-styled playlists.  I constantly asked myself, “Why aren’t you out partying like other teenagers?  Why are you are so weird?”  When those negative feelings came up (as they frequently did), I held onto them in spite of a loving network of family and friends.  Though I felt stuck in those thought cycles because they seemed fixed by circumstance.  This way of thinking followed me into college (and still occasionally revisits me) until loss made me reconsider things.

        In March 2011, my paternal Grandfather died unexpectedly. I felt devastated after his death and in the week after his passing, I understood that the added bitterness came from regret.  In order to convey the source of this regret, I must explain two facets of my Grandfather’s personality.  He had the rare gifts of living in the present moment and telling people how much he loved them.  For me those gifts best manifested themselves in his hilarious, often repeated stories he told at each family gathering.  Yet in the haze of my own overarching dissatisfaction, I was not fully aware of the gift of his presence.  It filled me with regret that I could not articulate that awareness to my Grandfather.  After experiencing regret, I decided that the way I perceived my circumstances and myself needed to change.  As a result, I sought out books\media and on more desperate occasions googled “how to be happy.”  In the course of my search, I found one book that recommended cataloging the things you were grateful for in a notebook.  Though I was skeptical, I intermittently kept a gratitude notebook.  The action of writing altered my internal monologue.  Even though I held onto my old thought habits, I began to have moments when I felt grateful for the quality of my present like my family.  Then in the fall of that same year, my maternal Grandfather was diagnosed with acute leukemia.  He lived with the disease until March 2012 and was full of the same inexpressibly loving, hilarious attributes as my paternal Grandfather.  Though in the months leading up to my Grandfather’s death, ordinary moments that included him and the rest of my family suddenly became precious.  That small effort of expressing gratitude yielded a more conscious view of life and loss.

        Though my real work with gratitude did not occur until the summer of 2012.  It was my first summer away from home and I used the time to enjoy my own company without guilt: I took long bike rides; pillaged the libraries for films\ books\ music; and kept an off ‘n on journal.  Though this solitude I learned how to construct a more internalized sense of self that was more perceptive of gratitude.  In this spirit and by virtue of my hipster-inspired fascination, I replaced the gratitude journal with a Mason jar and made it a priority to contribute something to the jar on a daily basis.  I began to actively appreciate the small things like the exhilarating rush of biking downhill and the inviting warmth of my morning cup of tea.  Strangely, this process also made more difficult things come up to the point that I considered tossing the gratitude jar against the nearest wall (neighbors and broken glass be damned).  Though these seemingly conflicting sensations encapsulated the core of real gratitude.  Real gratitude involves coming to terms with your whole experience and finding value in it, I was just beginning to understand that acceptance.                         

            I stuck with making daily additions to the gratitude jar throughout the academic year and things changed dramatically.  Of course, there were many instances of personal discontent though they no longer were the dominant voice in my perspective.  My attention to gratitude afforded me a sense of openness so that I could properly learn from my environment, particularly the people around me.  I began to feel comfortable expressing my gratitude towards others in small ways.  This shift was possible because gratitude taught me to work with the idea of being enough.  Being enough entails honoring personal awareness of both suffering and wonder.  Once I started to honor my experience, I gravitated towards social justice in its small and large forms.  I understood that the most basic level of social justice has to do with how I treat myself and how I treat others.  That small action made me aware of my own social privilege and the larger oppressive mechanisms that prevent true equality.  I would not have learned those things without the remarkable people I met at college.  Though some days I responded to this understanding better than others but I always knew that gratitude was important.                

            The gratitude jar has also been helpful since I moved back home because it has enabled me to redefine home.  For most of my adolescence, home was the locus of my discomfort because I felt stuck.  Sometimes I still fall into that mindset and grapple with bouts of inactivity but I mostly view them as temporary states.  For the most part, I can appreciate my time at home as a means to value the people and experiences I missed the first time around with new things mixed in.  The simple things like talking to my Father about the unusual lyrics in Bruce Springsteen's early albums; watching my Mom canter on Luna; and walking in my yard have become gifts.  It also has encouraged me to learn how to laugh at myself (balanced with taking myself seriously), which gives me the kind of lightness and acceptance I have been looking for.        

If you think a gratitude jar would be helpful for you too, read on!        

      

Instructions for a Gratitude Jar:

            Before I launch into instructions for creating your own gratitude jar, I would like to say a few things.  Firstly, this method isn’t intended to be a cure for mental illness that would be similar to putting a band-aid over a leak in the Hoover Dam.  Any type of psychiatric illness requires professional medical attention and communal support.  Secondly, honor what you need to learn from your unique life experience and really listen to yourself.  The gratitude jar was not right for me during most of my adolescence because I needed to learn other things from that experience.  Take some time to figure out exactly what you need to get to where you want to go.  Please be gentle with yourself and others.

1. Find some sort of receptacle (mason jar, shoebox, random cup, unused drawer, uninhabited fish tank) or not (computer, notebook, wall etc.) Experiment to find what suits your fancy.            

2. Materials to write with/on. 

3. Once you have your materials, figure out the time of day that works best for you.

4. Write it down and feel it (the second part is key). 

            Here are examples that I have used:

                        Thank you for a working pair of lungs.

                        I am grateful for my parents’ implicit trust in my turkey roasting abilities.   

                        I am thankful for friends that make my sides split with laughter. 

5. Put the paper in the receptacle. 

6. Repeat steps 2-5 as needed. 

Concluding suggestions: Let the things come out whether they are from the present, past, or future.  I recommend you also practice gratitude in the course of daily life in the quiet of your mind.  Then when you feel ready and genuinely moved to do so, express your gratitude to the people around you.  Sure, you could be labeled a Pollyanna but regret pickles the heart and, more importantly, you only have one life in this skin.