Growing up, my mother was always a stickler about writing thank you notes. My brother and I were not always the most amenable to her prodding, but I am now so grateful for it.
One of the things I remember most as a kid about begrudgingly writing my thank yous, was the fact that I actually did feel better after afterwards. Although I didn’t have words for it then, I was experiencing one of the very real benefits of gratitude. It is one of those rare things, like love, that feels as good to receive as it does to offer up.
I have so much to be grateful for that sometimes it feels obscene. My husband. My children. My parents and brother. My large and sprawling Southern family and the ever-embracing Greek family I married into. My friends. My yoga, which has given me so much and which I cherish even through my disenchantment. My students. My teachers. And last, but most certainly not least, you dear reader. I am so fully, unabashedly grateful for you.
I am writing this post entirely to say thank you. Thank for for giving me your precious time, for reading my digital scribbles, for listening to my gripes and my joys about yoga, and for giving me the space to muddle through my own disenchantment. Your willingness to do these things is such a gift. And I would be remiss as my mother’s daughter if I didn’t put my gratitude down on paper. Granted, whatever screen you are reading this on isn’t “paper.” But I think it still counts.
I know it isn’t the best practice as a writer to end with someone else’s words. But I am going to do it anyway because they have been ringing in my ears the entire time I have been writing this post. And they are Shakespeare’s words, and I figure he is a good enough writer that we can bend some rules. So wherever, whenever you are reading this, please take his words, from me to you, and let them fill your day and your life:
“I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks; and ever thanks.”