“Tis curious that we only believe as deep as we live.” – Emerson, from Beauty
I write in journals – almost daily, and I have been doing so since 1987. My personal archives both fascinates and appalls me, depending on the day. I have no idea what the fate of my collection will be after I die.
I have always assumed my journals would be useful when I write fiction. I even contemplated passing them down to my descendants but eliminated that idea once I had children.
Sometimes I read portions of them to remember and, just as frequently, I reread them to remember why I had to forget.
What I have been less successful in maintaining is the daily practice of Gratitude.
Grace & Gratitude are the currencies of the soul.
I define Grace as a moment in which you receive something good that you probably don’t deserve.
Gratitude is optional, but recommended and even necessary for the evolving soul. Opportunities to seize upon Gratitude are as abundant as we want them to be. There is always something to be grateful about. And, when you take a minute and consciously register your gratitude, you are sending energetic messages into the Universe saying, “Thank you for this! I love it! More, please!”
There was a time when I was passionate about tracking my Gratitude. It was 1997, and I was living in Savannah, Georgia. I first visited the city in November 1996, and the place resonated with something deep inside me. I can still feel it even though I left the city many years ago.
My entire move to Savannah felt intoxicating. I took Thoreau’s admonishment to “live deliberately” quite literally and did not want to remain in my hometown simply because it was familiar. I was 25 years old and was enjoying the oyster that was my world.
Fast forward to 2022. My life is much more complicated now, and I rarely feel genuinely excited about anything at all. If you were to look at me from the outside, you would probably assume that I am living quite comfortably in the world. In many ways I am, but something has numbed me without my even noticing it was happening. Not only do I feel almost numb, but I also noticed that I do not have a Wish List anymore.
I have always been a mindful co-creator in my life. I knew what I wanted and most often, I got them: experiences, opportunities, material items; all I had to do was decide it, record it, and expect it. There is a little more to it, but this will suffice for now.
The problem seems to be that I didn’t imagine my life past a certain point. And this is where I find myself now.
Not only did I fail to consider how I wanted my life to be past a certain point, but I also failed to consider who I wanted to be.
Today I spent some time reading my 1997 Gratitude Journal and the experience affected me more than I expected. Well, honestly, I hadn’t expected to feel much of anything at all.
But the voice of the young woman I was in 1997, jarred me because she was so damn likable. She was living a beautiful, mindfully curated life and found joy in varied things. Each day was replete with moments that added to her soul, and she didn’t want to miss a single one.
I liked her and wanted to read more and more about her world.
What came next was inevitable. I had to contemplate the next obvious step.
What would 1997 me think of the 2022 version?
The answer is simple.
Not much.
She wouldn’t even recognize me.
And I would not be terribly enthused about explaining how I muddied so many things that lay ahead of her.
I owe the girl an explanation, and much, much more.
And, if my memory serves me, she has never been the forgiving type to begin with.
Daughter of Circe 