How to Say Thank You

Winter Morning

When I can no longer say thank you

for this new day and the waking into it,

for the cold scrape of the kitchen chair

and the ticking of the space heater glowing

orange as it warms the floor near my feet,

I know it is because I’ve been fooled again

by the selfish, unruly man who lives in me

and believes he deserves only safety

and comfort. But if I pause as I do now,

and watch the streetlights outside winking

off one by one like old men closing their

cloudy eyes, if I listen to my tired neighbors

slamming car doors hard against the morning

and see the steaming coffee in their mugs

kissing their chapped lips as they sip and

exhale each of their worries white into

the icy air around their faces—then I can

remember this one life is a gift each of us 

was handed and told to open: Untie the bow

and tear off the paper, look inside 

and be grateful for whatever you find 

even if it is only the scent of a tangerine 

that lingers on the fingers long after 

you’ve finished eating it.

I wrote this poem after several sleepless nights in a new apartment where I had just relocated. I often turn to my writing practice to lift me out of a dark mood, to help me take a larger view of life and my surroundings. And though I had begun writing this poem with the belief that I would find nothing to be grateful for just then, I soon found that I was slowly saying thank you for the glimpse of my neighbors going to work on that icy morning, sipping coffee from to-go mugs, slamming their car doors. I can only guess that, as I wrote, I allowed myself to open and soften into that difficult moment, letting my senses pick up on the sights, sounds, and even the scent of the tangerines I’d just eaten lingering on my fingers. By the time I finished, I was smiling again against the odds—not because my problems were solved—downstairs neighbors who stayed up all hours, the faulty heating in my apartment, and lack of connection in that new city—I was smiling because I felt more alive. It is a balm to notice what calls to our attention, and to practice simply being with it all, even if we cannot yet thank the new day we have been given. Maybe paying deep attention to anyone or anything, no matter the stories we tell ourselves, is one of the ways we can say to the world: Yes, I am still grateful to be here, still grateful to be alive to streetlights blinking on and off, to the glowing orange coils of the space heater near my feat, to the coffee going cold in its cup, yet still doing the work of waking me up.

Invitation for Writing & Reflection: Can you describe a time when you could no longer say thank you for your life as it was, until something woke you up to the moment again? As you move through the next few days, see if you can stay aware of the ways the world is always calling us back, offering itself to our attention.

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In these trying times, creative community has become more important to me than ever. If you haven't already, please consider joining my Monthly Pause writing community. We meet via Zoom every 2nd Wednesday of the month at 1pm ET, gather wisdom from a special guest poet, then spend time writing and sharing together in a supportive, encouraging environment. December's guest is the wonderful Maya Stein. You can find out more info below, and if the monthly cost is a hardship for you, we are able to offer partial scholarships because of the generosity of this community.

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