By Maria Sprow

Someday soon, a good number of Americans will be sitting around dinner tables telling their friends and families what they most are thankful for: the hot food in front of them, the love from those around them, and the million dollar lottery ticket in front of them that they just haven’t scratched off yet.

I keep a gratitude journal from time to time — not regularly because who has time for that? — but it’s really something I want to do more often, something I should do more often, something that would actually help me better deal with this external national darkness I want so badly to escape while still feeling so profoundly that it’s my duty to stay and speak out against.

I don’t use my gratitude journal in the traditional sense, to talk about the big things people are thankful for: wealth, health, love, winning sports seasons. When everything is going right in the world, when I’ve got what I need, I don’t need to remember all the things I’m thankful for. It comes more naturally in those times. It’s more like breathing then. I still take time to think about it of course, to realize how lucky I am, but I don’t need to remember it.

I keep the gratitude journal for when those big things all go away. For the heartbreaks, for the career changes, for the dead ends, for the flash floods, for the sicknesses and the body pains, for the disappointments and failed adventures.

I keep the gratitude journal for the little things. The daily things. The little pieces of happiness I can hold on to from moment to moment, when all those big pieces of happiness fail or flail or just seem so far away. Because the small things will always be there, or at least, some of them will. And those small things can make the difference between smiling and crying (both of which I admittedly do rather frequently). Gratitude journals help train your brain to focus on the positive things in life - the simple beauty of a feather grass, the clouds in the sky, the music in your ears. Even when the relationship goes, the job doesn’t exist, the house is gone - the grass, the clouds, the music are not nothing.

Right now there are about 150 short entries.

There’s one on running in the rain.

“… There’s something about being out in the rain (by choice, instead of by chance). It’s silly, it’s irrational, it’s even uncomfortable. But you’re going to remember it. You’re going to remember that time when you were wet and cold and couldn’t see, when you just stayed outside and danced anyway. …”

Running in the rain

“… There’s something about being out in the rain (by choice, instead of by chance). It’s silly, it’s irrational, it’s even uncomfortable. But you’re going to remember it. You’re going to remember that time when you were wet and cold and couldn’t see, when you just stayed outside and danced anyway. …”

Another on making sandcastles.

“…The world becomes the canvas. The beach, the backdrop. The tools, all around you. Perfection isn’t necessary; existence, however brief it may be, is all that matters. …”

Making sandcastles

“… The world becomes the canvas. The beach, the backdrop. The tools, all around you. Perfection isn’t necessary; existence, however brief if may be, is all that matters. ....”

And wildflowers.

“… One of my favorite lines from any poem I've ever read is this: "How in this rage shall beauty hold a plea/ Whose action is no stronger than a flower?" … Wildflowers have an anger to them, but it's beautiful. They have a hope in them that's soothing. They have a plea in them that's peaceful.”

Wildflowers

“… One of my favorite lines from any poem I've ever read is this: "How in this rage shall beauty hold a plea/ Whose action is no stronger than a flower?" … Wildflowers have an anger to them, but it's beautiful. They have a hope in them that's soothing. They have a plea in them that's peaceful.”

They aren’t all about the little things. Some of them are lessons. One’s on the power of acceptance:

“ Acceptance is one of those true, pure, eternal internal sources of happiness, a source of peace and happiness that has stuck with me through thick and thin, so long as I've stuck with it. …. The more I accept, the more I want to super glue myself to it and maybe inject it with some kind of tracking device so I can find if we ever get separated during a storm.”

It’s always interesting looking back on old entries, the things I wrote about 12 years ago and 5 years ago and the things I write about now. They’ve stayed the same and yet they haven’t. I still love Kurt Vonnegut but I haven’t read one of his books in years. I’ve stopped dreaming in my sleep. I can’t sit and read a book all at once anymore unless I’m on an airplane. But I can close my eyes and remember what the love for those things was like and be thankful to have that bit of happiness, that memory of that feeling, still in me.

What’s in your gratitude journal?