Accepting What's Next
Sunday from the Porch
I usually think of gratitude as more of a corrective thought or a small moral adjustment made when my focus is too fixated on what is missing. Which is often, to be honest. But, I also know gratitude to be a more physical sensation as well, like a wave of recognition over the body. In just a few seconds, an intentional moment of gratitude can remind us, “This is good,” “this is happening,” “I am here.” And, even if only for just those few seconds, the ever-present search of meaning and purpose evaporates.
Having a strong gratitude practice is like having a pressure-release valve in every corner of your life. Moments of gratitude do not need to point toward anything or improve us, teach us, generate, or justify anything. They simply give us a container accept, acknowledge, and affirm that we exist.
I’m convinced this is where the real work begins. However, I am not convinced that everyone can eliminate all pressure and I am certainly not convinced that I can. My dimmer malfunctions. Remember? Even in the glow of the most radiant gratitude, I still wonder whether I am falling behind; or worry that if I stop reaching I will fall into failure; or fear that—if I relax—something will go awry. And all the while, knowing all too well that admitting something is good may require me to confront how long I have lived without it.
I have to hold those truths with compassion because I also know those thoughts do not disappear simply because I can name them. Fear feels different when I stop treating it as some kind of instruction and guilt becomes less convincing when I remind myself that it speaks only as an old reflex, rather than a current truth. The pressure to become loses some of its authority when I allow myself to accept and appreciate who I already am and the life that I have already built.
Our truths should not feel like they’re contributing to an already oversized pack on our shoulders. When we meet them with enough acceptance, compassion, and tenderness, they become more like dandelion “wishies” letting the wind guide them to their next incarnation. The same histories that teach us vigilance also make us capable of recognizing freedom when it appears. The same hunger that drives us can lend attention to the moments where momentum is no longer necessary. The same fear that falsely prophesies everything needs to change suddenly becomes the little voice within that makes gratitude feel most urgent.
Nothing lasts forever. And, there is a version of personal growth that is always oriented toward a better, bigger, brighter future. It asks us to become more disciplined and more successful; to heal our wounds and accept our scars; to deepen our self-awareness for a more authentic and purposeful life. Make no mistake about it, there is unquantifiable value in that no matter how you choose to view or live your life.
Growth can simply mean not asking what an experience means but letting yourself enjoy it. That means taking the personal day, staying in bed a little longer, having the sex, booking the trip, sitting in the sun, or simply enjoying the next meal and refusing to convert the pleasure into a lesson before you have actually felt it.
Responsibility is real and it’s impossible to organize our entire lives around pleasure but, honestly, sometimes you are just meant to have a good time. The future deserves care and there’s no denying or ignoring the reality: We have a lot to do, but the future should not consume so much of our attention that the present becomes little more than raw material for what comes after it.
I am not interested in completely silencing the little voice within that wonders what’s next. It has done important work in my life and I still want to build, grow, and believe in possibility, direction, and a becoming future. I am simply learning that the question does not always deserve an immediate answer.
Sometimes what comes next is not another goal or plan or destination or reinvention. Sometimes what comes next is awareness, compassion, and care. Sometimes it’s just a moment of gratitude to illuminate the false sense of urgency in the panic. Sometimes it’s the recognition that the life you’ve been working toward is already happening all around you, in every moment of every day, even if corners of it still feel a little scary, a little wild, and a little unresolved.
This is the third and final essay in a three-part series on What’s Next. Read the first one, “Identifying What’s Next” and the second one “Trusting What’s Next” at your leisure:
