It works like this, my friends tell me.
We are eating lunch at a downtown bistro. It is a long, lose-track-of-time lunch, the kind you have with those rare souls who light up the expansive, greathearted places in you. And these friends, a couple from Cambridge, are two of the most luminous souls I know.
At night, one friend says, we each text our sisters three things we’re grateful for from the day.
Like what? I ask. Our lunch arrives. Masses of steam roll off the spiced dishes.
It could be that people cooked for us, that I don’t have a cold anymore, one friend says. That I have eyesight or got to play with kids, the other says. It can be anything, they say.
Then, their sisters text back with three things they’re grateful for.
It’s just a small practice of thanks for the day, they tell me.
Which is true. And it’s also true that there’s nothing small about a Thank You said and a Thank You shared.
I love this, I say as we blow the heat off our food. And I decide then that maybe one way to keep those expansive, greathearted places in us lit up is with Thank You’s. Said and shared.