What Are You Thankful For?
It’s bedtime for our young daughters, Meredith and Holly. They have taken their baths, put on pajamas, and brushed teeth. Their mom Tracey and I have read a nightly lineup of books to them—Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Gorilla, and, of course, Goodnight, Texas. The smell of lavender baby shampoo, lingering on still damp brown bangs that fall just above sleepy eyes, prompts my delight.
All of us now sit on Meredith’s bed preparing for the last nightly ritual, something we began shortly after Holly was born and Meredith was two years old.
“Crisscross applesauce,” Meredith says; a cue for us to sit up and cross our legs in a lotus-like position, which we do.
“I go first,” Holly says, her pronounced dimples flanking a delicious smile.
“I go next,” says Meredith, with bright, captivating eyes.
“Ready, Mommy?” Holly asks as Tracey smiles, “…What are you thankful for?”
We then each take turns speaking about our gratitude for what we have and experience.
“What are you thankful for?” has become our family bedtime refrain.
Challenges to Gratitude
I think a lot about gratitude these days. Three years ago, assuming I had lost nearly everything, I felt that my life more or less had ended with a Parkinson’s diagnosis. I know that in similar circumstances many people feel this way.
There have been dark moments. After all, Parkinson’s takes relentlessly from those it latches onto. Slowly, but surely. Over time, it can rob you of basic abilities: to move, to feel pleasure or calm, to sleep, and to speak, along with other aspects of life that I previously took for granted.
Perhaps you have taken them for granted, too. As Joni Mitchell observed, “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.”[1]
Gratitude can be elusive. When I labor to button my shirt with stiff fingers, it’s difficult to feel thankful. On night four of waking up at 2:00 am, unlikely to fall back asleep and anticipating a packed afternoon schedule, it’s hard to be grateful. When, after a long day, I have painful cramping in my toes and feet—a condition called dystonia and a common Parkinson’s symptom—gratitude remains a distant thought at best; just as it is when my legs feel like they have cinder blocks tied to them as I walk.
It’s difficult to maintain a posture of gratitude when life gets hard.
But what’s a better alternative? Apathy? Bitterness? Despair?
No.
As Cicero observed, “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.”[2] As a result, we benefit from practicing gratitude as often as possible, and especially when facing challenges.
Getting to Grateful
Here is what helps get me to a place of gratitude. This is how I practice it.
Name It
First, I acknowledge my hardships, which often involve the things I have lost or will never have. It is essential to recognize and affirm what causes pain, disappointment, anger, sadness, regret, fear, or any other feeling that accompanies my struggles. In order to feel grateful, I must first recognize challenges to gratitude. Then, I must acknowledge them and the pain they cause. Otherwise, I will not heal. In order to answer the question, “What are you thankful for?” I first have to answer the question, “What is causing me pain?”
Claim It
Second, I have to accept what is happening. Having acknowledged my pain, I must next recognize that life will now be different. I’m not saying that I give up or that I live with resignation, only that I have to accept my situation as something that just has to be, perhaps forever, and that going forward life will not be the same as it was before. As Michael J. Fox points out, “Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there’s got to be a way through it.”
Own It – All
Third, in order to feel grateful I focus on what I do have, on what I have not lost; including aspects of my life not diminished by having Parkinson’s. Not only this, but, believe it or not, I focus further on the ways my life is better by virtue of living with this disease.
To be clear, I’m not grateful I have Parkinson’s. In fact, having it sucks. Big time. But having it has brought its own gifts that enrich my life beyond what I could have imagined.
I consider how my relationships have deepened and become more authentic; how my values have shifted; how my priorities have changed; how my hopes and dreams have morphed into more beautiful and life giving possibilities; how I am graced by new friendships with those in the Parkinson’s community.
Stephen Hawking, who lived an extraordinary life amid the cruel assault of ALS, puts it in perspective: “My expectations were reduced to zero when I was 21. Everything since then has been a bonus.”[3]
Gauge It
Finally, and this is tricky, my practice of gratitude includes a recognition of those whose hardships are much more severe than my own. I want to be careful here. Never would I hope to benefit from someone else’s adversity or despair. In fact, I want to be a source of their comfort and joy. At the same time, when I pay closer attention to others and truly empathize with their struggles, I often find that my own difficulties, though significant and worthy of the kind of acknowledgment I’ve suggested, nevertheless carry a magnitude of pain and suffering and despair that pales in comparison. Our mutual struggles bring us into solidarity, yes, and I remember the value found in the knowledge that “it can always be worse” and for some it already is.
Practicing the Refrain
When the darker moments come, or when gratitude eludes me, I ask myself, “What are you thankful for?” Then, I look at what I have, or could have; at what enhances my life, relationships, sense of purpose and meaning, ability to support others, and new goals. I consider the abundance with which I live. Over and over, I practice this refrain.
Oliver Sachs was a renowned neurologist who pioneered the use of a drug called levodopa; his discovery remains the gold standard for treatment of Parkinson’s. He wrote a moving piece for the NY Times upon learning he had terminal cancer. He said, “I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written…Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.”[4]
I think of these words often, grateful that my own privilege and adventure continues.
________
[1] Malka Morum, Joni Mitchell: Both Sides Now (New York: Ominbus Press, 2001), 255
[2] https://www.britannica.com/topic/Pro-Plancio
[3] Stephen W. Hawking The Science of Second-Guessing, New York Times Magazine Interview, December 12, 2004
[4] https://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/19/opinion/oliver-sacks-on-learning-he-has-terminal-cancer.html
Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash
Allan Cole is a professor in The Steve Hicks School of Social Work at The University of Texas at Austin and, by courtesy, professor of psychiatry in the Dell Medical School. Diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2016, at the age of 48, he serves on the Board of Directors at Power for Parkinson’s, a non-profit organization that provides free exercise, dance, and singing classes for people living with Parkinson’s disease in Central Texas, and globally via instructional videos. He also serves as a Community Advocate for ParkinsonsDisease.net, writing columns about living well with Parkinson’s. He is author or editor of 10 books on a range of topics related to bereavement, anxiety, and spirituality. Currently, he is writing a book on counseling people with Parkinson’s disease, which will be published by Oxford University Press.
Follow him on Twitter: @PDWiseBlog