Over the years, as a hobby, I’ve worked with a few people to record, transcribe, and shape their life stories into written narratives to pass along to kids and grandkids. And now I’m beginning to do so as another one of my little random freelance gigs.

During these sessions, I ask questions that I hope will trigger rich memories as we move through each phase of life, from childhood to the twilight years.

I’m impressed by how much people remember. The color of a bedspread. A burn on a coffee table. The sound of an old friend’s laugh. A conversation while riding a ski lift.

But what I’m moved by even more is the degree of gratitude that seeps out from some people as they look back on their moments.

Gratitude for family. Gratitude for friends. Gratitude for trials and tribulations. Gratitude for freedom. Gratitude for hotdogs and beans.

Photo courtesy of Niv Singer on UNSPLASH

While driving home from these sessions, I can’t help but wonder two things: If somebody were to interview me in that way a.) what memories would surface and b.) what degree of gratitude would seep out?

Gratitude isn’t something that automatically oozes from us in our later years. It’s cultivated along the way from regularly turning toward bright spots, even during those weeks when everything feels crummy or unsettled and we’re stumbling our way through the darkness.

We’ve all heard that people who regularly take the time to notice and reflect upon the things they’re thankful for experience more positive emotions. They feel more alive, sleep better, express more compassion and kindness, and have stronger immune systems.

Why? Because the habit of looking on the bright side gives them a perspective from which they can interpret and turn around negative life events.

I’m not really a daily gratitude journal kind of gal, and I do my share of negative ruminating. But like you, I try to evolve. And I can at least manage the occasional gratitude list. Sometimes it’s easiest to start off on a light note and delve in from there.  So here we go:

Today, I’m grateful for:

♦ My little spray cans of magical root cover-up—one in the upstairs bathroom and one in the main floor bathroom—that help me temporarily conceal grey hairs in three seconds.

♦ Slippers and sports bras and jeans that have shorters pockets on the back designed to help eliminate “long butt.”

♦ People who’ve made a career out of providing safe and effective treatments to eliminate rodents in ceilings and basement closets and the upstairs toilet (don’t ask), so I don’t have to.

♦ All the people who work in forests and factories harvesting, fermenting, roasting, melting, and molding cocoa beans into bite-sized chocolates.

♦ A home with electricity, warm beds, and a fridge with fresh raspberries and a tub of guacamole on the second shelf.

♦ A working car that allows me to run quick errands, get to meetings and appointments on time, drop off and pick up kids, help out my parents, and spontaneously explore this beautiful region I live in.

♦ Introverts, the ones who observe more than they talk, who are misunderstood or overlooked but become some of the best inventors, scientists, poets, writers, innovators, caretakers, and friends of our time.

♦ Extroverts, the ones who can wear me out with their incessant enthusiasm and chatter, but also bring our communities together by making introductions, filling awkward silences, initiating discussions, and motivating us to reach and grow beyond our comfort zones.

♦ Former classmate friends and kids’ school mom friends and writer friends and neighbor friends who invite me to gatherings, provide validation, lend me tables and canopy tents, and sneakily leave paper bags filled with garden cucumbers and tomatoes on the hood of my car.

♦ My smart, soft-spoken-but-strong-willed,  sparkly-eyed mom, who has inspired in me a deep appreciation for language, music, photo albums, family history, a sense of humor, and the beauty of a humbled soul.

♦ My ingenious, steadfast, wavy-white-haired dad, who has passed on to me a gravitational pull toward scenic drives, farmer’s markets, homemade soups, prayer booklets, thrift shops, and the beauty of two-for-one deals.

♦ My eight lovely siblings and the ongoing group text threads we use to share updates and pictures, figure out logistics, ask for prayers, offer to help, make corny puns, and no doubt drive each other a tiny bit nuts some days.

♦ My hardworking, loyal-as-they-come husband. After nearly 25 years of sharing bathroom counters and plates of French fries, we no doubt drive each other a tiny bit nuts some days, too, but he regularly vacuums and laughs loud and asks me out on lunch dates and tells me he’s proud of me.

♦ My three children racing toward young adulthood with resolve and spirit. Sometimes I get this sudden urge to run around and hug every single person in this whole wide world who has ever made them feel accepted and valuable by offering them a smile, a kind greeting by name, a seat at a table, a spot in a circle, and a wise perspective because God knows I don’t always have enough wisdom or perspective to give them myself.

♦ And finally, I’m grateful for each day I get to see the sunrise and the sunset followed by the moon. As each one of us journeys through our various life stages, so does the moon, of course—from New Moon to Waning Crescent. But like a loyal companion, it’s always there, reminding us to turn toward the bright spot.

I’m Julie Jo Severson, mom to three teens, freelance writer, editor, and co-author of HERE IN THE MIDDLE: Stories of Love, Loss, and Connection from the Ones Sandwiched in Between. 

This blog, Carvings on a Desk, is where I reconnect with my own voice swirling around in the middle.

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