Finding Your Ground: A Gentle Approach to Gratitude Practice
By Grace — The grandmother you always needed. Sourdough, wisdom, and zero judgment. ·
A Slow Morning in the Kitchen
It’s May here in Vermont, and if you’ve ever spent a spring in these hills, you know it’s a time of frantic, beautiful waking up. The mud is finally drying, the fiddleheads are popping up along the stream, and my sourdough starter—which I’ve lovingly named 'Old Reliable'—is bubbling away on the counter with a renewed sense of purpose.
I was sitting here this morning, watching the light hit the dust motes dancing over my kitchen table, and I found myself thinking about you. I know the world feels like it’s spinning a little faster than we’d like these days. I hear it in the messages you send me, and I see it in the hurried way some of you talk about your days. When life feels like a blur, we often hear the advice: "Just practice gratitude." It sounds simple, like a pat on the back, but sometimes it feels like just another chore on a to-do list that’s already far too long.
After sixty-seven years, and after letting go of my dear Tom four years ago, I’ve learned that gratitude isn’t a performance. It isn’t about forcing a smile when you’re grieving or ignoring the shadows. It’s simply the act of noticing the light, even when it’s dim.
Reframing the 'Gratitude Journal'
In my thirty years of teaching second grade, I learned that if you give a child a massive, intimidating blank page, they’ll often freeze up. But if you give them a prompt—a single, small thing to focus on—they’ll write a masterpiece.
We do the same thing to ourselves with gratitude journals. We think we have to sit down and write a profound essay about how blessed we are. But honestly? Some days, 'blessed' feels like a heavy word. If you’re struggling, you don’t need to force a list of ten things you’re thankful for. That just leads to guilt when you can only think of two.
Instead, try the 'One Small Anchor' method.
How to Anchor Your Day
An anchor is something that holds you steady. It doesn't have to be grand. It’s not a promotion or a vacation. It’s the texture of your life. Here is how I practice it, and how I’d love for you to try it:
1. The Sensory Check: When you’re having your morning coffee or tea, pick one sensory detail to be grateful for. Maybe it’s the warmth of the mug against your palms, or the way the steam curls up into the morning air. Don’t look for the 'big' things yet. Just notice the physical sensation of being alive.
2. The 'Even So' List: This is something I started doing after Tom passed. When the grief was heavy and the house felt too quiet, I’d find myself thinking, 'I am lonely, but the birds are singing.' It doesn’t erase the loneliness. It just gives the beauty a seat at the table, too. Try stating one difficulty, followed by one small, existing 'even so.' It validates your humanity without letting the sadness take up the whole room.
3. The Nighttime Reflection (No Writing Required): If you’re too tired for a pen and paper—and believe me, some nights I am—just pick one thing that surprised you. Did a stranger hold the door? Was the sourdough crust particularly crunchy? Did the dog do that funny tuck-and-roll move? Gratitude is really just a way of training your brain to hunt for joy. If you look for it, you’ll find it hiding in the corners.
Why We Don't Need 'Positivity'
I hear so much about 'toxic positivity' these days, and I want you to know: I don’t believe in it. I don’t believe in toxic anything. When I lost Tom, I didn’t need to be told to 'look on the bright side.' I needed to be told that it was okay to be a mess.
Gratitude is not about ignoring the hard parts. It’s about building a foundation that can hold both the hard and the sweet. When you acknowledge the small, good things, you aren’t pretending the rest of the world is perfect. You are simply reminding yourself that you are still here, and that 'here' has some pretty lovely details.
My grandchildren are all growing up so fast—my oldest is heading off to university soon—and there are days I could just sit and cry about how quickly time slips through our fingers. But then I smell the bread baking, or I see the way the sunlight catches the blue of my hydrangeas, and I remember that the beauty of life is woven into the transience of it. We are grateful because it changes, not in spite of it.
A Kind Invitation
Start small. Don't pressure yourself to be 'grateful' for everything all at once. Just start by noticing. Maybe tomorrow morning, when you pour your first cup of coffee, just take five seconds to hold the mug and say, 'This is warm. I am here.'
That is enough. It is more than enough.
I’d love to hear what your 'small anchor' was today. Did you see a flower pushing through the sidewalk? Did you have a laugh with a friend? Pull up a chair in the comments or send me a note. I’ve got the kettle on, and I’m always happy to listen.
Warmly, Grace