According to a growing amount of positive psychology research, there seems to be a link between gratitude and happiness. Those with an attitude of gratitude are generally a happier and healthier lot (you can read about more of the benefits of gratitude here: “10 Reasons Why Gratitude is Healthy”). I want to be happier and healthier, and my attitude of gratefulness is one thing I can influence, so why not do some experimenting? I’m ashamed to admit though I have much to be grateful for, I often focus on what I want but don’t have.

With that in mind, in November I’m participating in Dani Dipirro’s (Positively Present) “30-Day Gratitude Photo Challenge.” Every day on Facebook, I will post a photo and brief description of something I’m grateful for, using the prompts she’s provided. I’m doing this for two reasons: First, I do really want to focus on what I’m grateful for. Second, I want to see if I can do something for 30 days straight! I have a bad habit of tearing off all gung ho for a project and quickly losing steam. It’s time I built some stick-to-it muscles. What better way than becoming more mindful of what I’m grateful for?

Today’s prompt is “Dream”—what we dream of, both literally or in the abstract; recurring dreams; what we daydream about.  I could easily have slapped a photo of Tank here and called it a day, because he’s a significant dream come true that I’m grateful for. However, I already posted a photo of him on day one (“Beauty”) and I’d rather not turn this project into a photo album of Tank pictures. Instead, I sat for a few minutes thinking about other dreams I’ve had that have come true, and those still just out of my reach.

What I decided to post today: I’m grateful for the chance to fulfill my desire to write.

Essentially, I’ve been a writer since high school when a creative writing teacher named Marie Tollstrup taught me how to harness the words swirling in my head and shape them into various forms of prose and poetry. I’ve worked as a writer (and editor) full time, part time and freelance my whole adult life. At times I’ve made enough to support myself, and others I’ve made little to nothing. I have been able to spend hours reading and writing and exploring and playing with words, starting pieces and throwing them away, filing them for the future, submitting them for others’ perusal. I haven’t always made the most of my opportunities, whether through fear or distraction or laziness, but I have had the luxury of trying.

If you want to see what else I’m grateful for, you can do so on my Facebook page (click on my Facebook link on the left side of this blog. If we’re not already friends, send me a friend request.) I will also be writing more posts on this challenge on Catching Happiness, but not every day.  And if this sounds like something you want to do, too, please join in! The original challenge can be found at Positively Present, “30-Day Gratitude Photo Challenge: 2014 Edition.”

In the course of cleaning out a closet recently, I found a box of keepsakes from high school. It was educational, to say the least. This box contained treasures such as:

I spent a few happy hours reconstructing my high school days, cringing and blushing at times, surprised at others by how similar my writing voice now is to that of my 17-year-old self.

I had fun reconnecting with the girl I used to be. The exuberance, the highs and lows, the enthusiasm and hunger for life. That girl was easily cast down and just as easily sent soaring. It was in high school that I began to be able to negotiate around my shyness, finding pursuits I loved (writing, drama, tennis) and participating in life on my own terms. It was here that the seeds of who I am today were sown.

Looking at my picture and reading my words, I see a vibrancy that I wish I still had. In comparison, I’ve become muted by life and responsibility, even though that responsibility was taken on willingly and happily: building an adult life, working, raising a child. I see a more refined version of my 17-year-old self in the mirror today—some of the rough edges knocked off, the fears calmed, the goals achieved. What remains is hope for the future, curiosity about what’s next, excitement about what that might be—and yes, a little bit of fear as well. I have learned that fear is normal, and nothing to be, well, feared.

My life now is starting, in small and subtle ways, to have the same sense of possibility I felt at 17. My child is (almost) grown up, I’m settled in my home, I know how to cook and clean, I can pay bills and run my life efficiently. Most of the things I wondered and worried about have come and gone and I can turn my concentration to new possibility. What will the next 10 years hold? I see my journals (not to mention my blog posts!) asking this question. Wondering what the next adventure(s) will be. Wanting to have adventures, everyday and otherwise.

I remember what it felt like to listen to music and dream about the future. I still do that, only now I’m in my home office listening to my iTunes library instead of in my bedroom listening to a turntable. I still jot poetry in a notebook, write in my journal. My future is a bit blurry, as it was then. I’m more deliberate in my choice of opportunities to pursue now, because I have a better idea of what I like and don’t like, what I can excel in. I no longer have adults telling me what to do; I am learning to listen to my voice, because now I have experience and wisdom of my own. I want to incorporate my 17-year-old self’s enthusiasm into my current life, temper her fears with my maturity, and build a future me that combines all the best parts of us. 

Introduction by Ted Kooser: Here’s a lovely poem for this lovely month, by Robert Haight, who lives in Michigan.

Early October Snow

It will not stay.

But this morning we wake to pale muslin

stretched across the grass.

The pumpkins, still in the fields, are planets

shrouded by clouds.

The Weber wears a dunce cap

and sits in the corner by the garage

where asters wrap scarves

around their necks to warm their blooms.

The leaves, still soldered to their branches

by a frozen drop of dew, splash

apple and pear paint along the roadsides.

It seems we have glanced out a window

into the near future, mid-December, say,

the black and white photo of winter

carefully laid over the present autumn,

like a morning we pause at the mirror

inspecting the single strand of hair

that overnight has turned to snow.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2013 by Robert Haight from his most recent book of poems, Feeding Wild Birds, Mayapple Press, 2013. (Lines two and six are variations of lines by Herb Scott and John Woods.) Poem reprinted by permission of Robert Haight and the publisher. Introduction copyright 2014 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I need to have less before I can have more. I’d like to think all this decluttering serves a purpose larger than just having my home look neater. I choose to think that getting rid of what no longer serves me makes room for the new. And I’m not talking about new things. Perhaps, less burdened by too much and too many (things and thoughts), the inside of my head will be a bit neater as well. For now, I’m focused on getting rid of.

I’m not sure what that something new I’m making room for looks like. I have to have faith that if I do make room, if I do simplify and purge and organize, then I’ll be ready when my opportunities come, when everyday adventure knocks on my door.