I woke up this morning feeling grateful. I try to make that my first feeling most days. That way, when memories come flooding back of the previous days disappointments, they have to go through my “grateful filter” first.
I have a lot to be grateful for – even on my worst days. I’m grateful for waking up, first and foremost. It’s a cosmic do-over, I think, to wake up and start fresh. A clean slate, another shot at it.
I’m grateful for waking up and feeling good – most days anyway. I have no difficulty breathing or standing and walking; I have all ten fingers and toes. I can move from point A to point B unassisted. Yes, it is going to be a good day indeed.
I’m grateful for waking up, feeling good and having the luxury of lying in a bed, in my own home, in a safe neighborhood, listening to the trash haulers do their work, the birdsong in the trees and contemplating what to wear from my sizeable collection of outerwear. What’s the weather like? Is it raining? Should I wear my rain boots or should I wear sandals?
I’m grateful for waking up, feeling good, having the luxury of lying in a bed and the time to say a prayer. I don’t wake up after a night of terror only to discover that the day will look pretty much the same as the night. I am not a slave or an illegal immigrant living in fear of the law; nor do I live in a refugee camp or a war torn country. I am not a victim caught up in the prison industrial complex; I am not even a so-called minority waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I woke up this morning feeling grateful. I try to make that my first feeling most days so that the rest of my day slips into the proper perspective. I don’t always pull it off, but I keep practicing.