Grateful

I recently spoke to someone who talked about how he is grateful that he is breathing today. You know that struck me hard? That made me pause and think, yes, shouldn’t we all be grateful that we’re breathing today? That we have food on our plate, a roof above us or just be happy that we are breathing.

We wake up every day and get pulled into a chase, work, love, friendships, money, and everything else we’re told matters. But when was the last time we sat with ourselves and felt thankful just for being alive? I see people make jokes about wishing they were dead, wishing there was a zombie apocalypse and they would be the first to get killed, wishing that if there are any disaster, or a war, or anything at all were millions die, they wish it was them. Sometimes it’s humor, sometimes it's not. I understand some people carry things too heavy to name, and I get it. But do we ever stop to think

Sometimes it’s humor, sometimes it's not. I know some people carry things too heavy to name, and I get it. But do we ever stop to think that the things you wish for is happening to someone who didn’t? And that you should be grateful because you’re here and they aren’t?

We’re busy chasing things and looking at people who have more than what we do and curse our life, asking “why me?”, “why can’t I have that house, that job, that girl/guy” always wanting more, always wanting things you don’t even want but want it just for the sake of other having it, while not being grateful for what you have already?

I thought about the days when I made those jokes and realised that I would never want them to happen to me. I wouldn’t want to be the first to get killed in a zombie apocalypse, I don’t want any disaster take me away from here. Not even on my worst days. I want to be here. I want to stay.

Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Because I’ve seen myself push through before. And if there’s even a sliver of a chance that things get better, I want to be around to see it. I want to know what’s on the other side.

Life rarely follows the script we had in mind. But maybe that’s the part that makes it worth living. You wouldn’t skip ahead in a story you care about. You’d keep turning the pages, even when it hurts, even when it’s slow, because you still want to know what happens next.