Gratitude

In April of 2018, I was on a flight from Seoul to Seattle. I wasn't having a good day. That day was the latest in a series of difficult days. Somewhere between the end of Russia and the beginning of the United States, I had a clear thought. Out of the depths of my brain, with clarity and the impression that I had found the solution to my problems, I thought, "I'm going to commit myself to an institution."

I saw myself getting off the plane, spending the night at my friend's house, and getting a ride to somewhere. Some kind of a big building, with a bright, clean hallway that wound up in front of an impressive counter framed in oak. There, I would fill out a form, and at last be done.

Before I did that, I talked about my plan with a friend of mine from Orcas. I only have a vague memory of that conversation, but I think the essence of it was, "Come home for two weeks, and if you still want to go, I'll take you." He also told me that while it would be fairly easy to get in, I wouldn't be the one deciding when I got out. Remember Jack Nicholson, AKA Randle McMurphy? That last part got my attention and threw a wrench into my plans.

Fast forward: I make it back to Orcas. I have a job and a very nice place to live. I have a motorcycle that has been gifted to me so I can get back and forth to work, etc. Things are going better than they have for a long time. Due solely to my nature, it didn't last. I made a last mistake in a series of mistakes, and the bottom fell out of my world.

The thing that I held most dear was at risk of being taken away from me. There was no clear outcome, and there wouldn't be for quite a while. I wouldn't know this until a few years later, but it is highly likely that I had been living in a state of clinical depression—I had a reprieve, and now I was going back into it with a vengeance. I began living in a bleak world. A world without color or joy. Getting out of bed by 10:00 was a victory. Exiting my small apartment at 1:00 was the norm. I could manage to work for two to three hours a day.

In hindsight, there was a disturbing aspect to this part of my life. It had been going on for long enough that it became normal. I knew I wasn't doing well. I thought I was putting on a good face in public, but I've since found out that might not have been the case. It certainly wasn't true when I was with a group of trusted comrades. I'm not like that now. I have a good life that I'm very grateful for.

To get here, I went through a brutal process of pulling back the curtain. I don't use the word brutal lightly. For me, it is important not to be overly dramatic about this part of my life, but it is critical that I don't minimize it. I'm part of the world now, and I was far from that in 2018. Essentially, it reinforces how I need to participate in my day to day. Community instead of isolation.

One of the keys to being able to make that journey from deep sadness to joy started on one of those gray mornings. I had no intention of doing what I did. Maybe it came to me out of nowhere. As I sit here now, I think it is more likely that it had been roaming around my head for decades. Nevertheless, it was here now.

I began to make a list of things I was grateful for. I'm not sure how I was able to do this while my life continued to be deconstructed. I'm chalking one up for providence.

In my lethargic and apathetic frame of mind, the idea of gratitude came to wearing a coat of nonchalance. In the spirit of that nonchalance, without know how vital this would become, I opened up a fresh page in Google Docs and typed, "A comfortable bed." This opened the door just enough that more came to mind.

When I came back to Orcas, I did what I knew how to do—construction. A mainstay in my ability to be in the trades is a good carpenter's pencil. To qualify, it has to be made out of real wood. My early preference was to have it be plain wood because I thought that looked more like a real carpenter's pencil. After a time, I favored a white pencil because it would be easier to find when I dropped it on the ground. Now, since I was starting over, I ordered half a gross of new pencils made of wood and painted a bright fluorescent lime green. I love these pencils—very much. They went on the list. Most days, they would go on the list. I was never shy about being repetitive.

The rest of the list was made up of more ordinary things. The microwave, my toothbrush, the shower that came with the apartment, and the towel that came with the shower. After a time, people began to join the list. And then places. I usually don't stick with things, but I stuck with this. Even though I was going through a 'dark night of the soul,' I kept making the list. Every morning.

Very slowly, despite my limited, awful perception, I began to be grateful for my life. I would pull out one of these silly, fluorescent green pencils and smile. Smiles were rare those days, but my carpenter's pencil always brought one to me. When I would make oatmeal in the microwave, I would smile because I had a microwave, oatmeal, and a bowl to cook it in. As I'm writing this, six years later, it seems like such a simple thing, but it was one of the keys that made it possible for me to see my world as fulfilling rather than wretched.

After three months, everywhere I would turn, I saw something, someone, or somewhere that I was grateful for. I would imagine myself having absolutely nothing, and then someone would say, "Here, you can be friends with Gene Nery," and my heart would expand. "Here, you can have long johns so you won't freeze when you ride your motorcycle to Deer Harbor." "Here, you can have the internet so you can talk to your daughter in Bali."

That small thing meant so much to me, but until I began to focus on gratitude, I didn't know it.

I can still be petty and judgemental. I can still be sullen and depressed. But since then, these moods have been short-lived because they are all tempered with gratitude. I haven't practiced making the list consistently since those six months in 2018, but as a friend predicted, it infused gratitude into my being.

I don't know that everyone on the planet has something to be grateful for. That would be an awfully bold assumption. So, I can't offer this as a cure-all.

Here's what I know. In a dark time, an idea came out of nowhere. Without discipline or dedication, I managed to produce a list every day for six months. It changed my life. Providence.