When being grateful is too much

Sometimes saying thank you for this, thank you for that is too much. Sometimes the blaring white noise of existence overwhelms to the point of temporary madness.

There are times when being grateful is beyond me–

But I can always muster a muted yes

It’s my favorite mental shorthand to acknowledging the good. There I am — beleaguered by the day, the last three crap years really, with the enormity of it all, with the battle for business resurrection — I can’t find gratitude, not yet, but I can stop and find that tiny thought spark to halt the bad vibe thought train hurtling off the rails.

It must be obvious, like the Mountain Dew in my hand, because my mind — staticky like a badly-tuned radio station — can’t hone in. It can’t think things through. It can’t even get to but I’m grateful for . . . .

For example: I can think about my son for a fleet moment. Yes. I can erp that out in the hollow of my mind.

I can locate the image of a good friend. Yes. I don’t even have to think what that friend means to me, the image will suffice and do its duty. The meaning is in the image, it’s better than language, it contains the language of friendship and the experience too.

I can take a breath, yes, and let it out slowly the way smokers do.

I can lay down on the ground, not a bed or a couch, the ground! Something about muscle and bone on the hard planetary surface that . . . yessss . . . relaxes one. It is draping yourself on the earth. The earth can’t help but kick some energy back.

Soon enough, the yesses come freely, come forcefully, flowingly. Soon enough, I’m yessing it up. Yes to this! — Yes to that! — Yes to yo Mama too!

Yes, yes and YES!

If you want more, say yes to these

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