I wrote two thank you notes yesterday morning.
It was a morning where I was out of sorts. I had a leftover ache from a rejection the day before. And a new self-imposed pain from comparing myself to people who just seemed to have a more wonderful way of being in the world than me.
I tried – unsuccessfully, you should know – filling up on distraction: I listened to a podcast about street gangs. I bought yogurt, toilet paper, a vanilla-scented candle. I swept under my shoe rack and even over by the wireless router.
But I couldn’t shake it. I remained standing still in vulnerability.
So, I did something I often do when I’m vulnerable: I thought about friends who’d been in this place, who knew the ache and pain of it, and who’d grown and rose in it.
And then I did something I don’t do often enough: I wrote these people thank you notes.
Friend, I wrote, I couldn’t find my footing this morning. I was unsteady, unsure, lonely. But I thought about you. And I felt less of all those things. Thank you.
I sent my notes. And I thought, This might be worth doing again, this thank you practice.
I was vulnerable, still. But I was grateful now, too.
And grateful is a wonderful way of being in the world.