Last night, as I got under the covers and turned out the light, I had this overwhelming gratitude for the bed, the sheets, my nightgown and my life. It was the particular that led me to the gratitude for my life. And then I had a rush of superstition, because I'm prone to such feelings, but I brushed the dread away and said to myself, "This moment is what it is, and feels perfect, no matter what comes after. I've had a good life, four healthy children, healthy grandchildren. I am fortunate".
Now, I practice gratitude as an antidote to fear. I write every evening in a gratitude journal, and when feelings of gratitude pop up for me I try to express them to the person I'm thinking about. But this was different. It was simple joy in being alive. There was no reason. It was the same ritual, the same sheets, the same nightgown, the same light, the same time of night. Nothing unusual had occurred yesterday. I often have a similar feeling in the morning, when I get out of bed. I'm so happy to grab my robe, go downstairs, let the dogs out, feed them, pick up their poop, get the paper and contemplate what to have for breakfast. Barbara's shredded oats or scrambled eggs? A fruit yogurt shake or raisin toast? I love my V8 and tea. These rituals are comforting to me.
I wonder if the lack of expectation is part of the joy? When I'm going to sleep or waking up I'm facing ordinariness. I don't have exciting dreams and though sometimes I think about an earthquake before I go to sleep (Where is my purse? The flashlight?) or in the morning perhaps I'm going to meet a friend later or pick up my new glasses, mostly expectation is not part of the mix. I seem freer when my mind is not jumping ahead, but right in the moment without anticipation. I'm tired at night, so perhaps that quiets my mind, and in the morning I'm full of energy and possibility but generalized, without specifics. Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say.
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