Thanks, but no thanks...

Experts in health and psychology and even my mom agree that gratitude is supposed to be good for us.  So I tried.  Every day in my journal I wrote down something I was grateful for.  In November this year, I made it more than a few days taking a picture of something I was grateful for and making sure to post it to my Facebook feed.  Then I got sick and it trailed off.  I didn’t miss it.

 

Here’s the thing:  it does not work for me.  I do not feel more joy when I practice gratitude.  Not even a little.  At best I get a sense of accomplishment from ticking off a box on the Great To-Do List In The Sky. 

 

At worst, I get an upsurge in depression.  It works like this.  I am a person with lots of good things in my life.  I am healthy, housed, employed, and fed.  I have dear family and dear friends.  And I am depressed.  The Depression Monster starts to whisper (all right, scream) at me, “What kind of horrible person are you that you are depressed in the face of so many good and wonderful things?  There is something seriously wrong with you.  You suck…”  The monster can go on in that vein indefinitely, but I won’t because it is not only depressing, but also boring.

 

It’s easy to poke holes in other people’s theories.  What’s hard is doing the work to figure out what would be better.  So I’ve been kicking ideas around to see what, in fact, gives me more joy.

 

I found two things.  One is beauty.  Insert Keats quote here (he even makes the connection; maybe I should have paid more attention in class?).  I can’t explain why I take zillions of photos of flowers, but I do find them beautiful and it does, over time, give me joy.  This is also one of the reasons I love to go to art museums.  Over time, the daily unbeautiful routine of laundry and cooking and errands depletes my beauty reserves and I go to fill them up again.

 

The other is humor.  Back when my depression was worse, I had my own stress response in the vein of fight-or-flight.  It may sound familiar:  laugh or cry.  Crying has its purpose and its place, but most of the time, I try to choose laughing.  (I used to tell the funny stories about the time I spent in the hospital for my depression, but somehow other people found them stressful…)  I will never repent from my habit of silly jokes and puns.  It shifts my brain into a much different place, the one where ordinary traffic cones become Orange Witch Hats and have adventures.  Here, for example, is the OWH Motorcycle Club out for a ride this morning.

 

I am not an expert.  I’m not even my mother.  But I do know what works for me.  So I’ve had enough gratitude practice (despite being very grateful for the many blessings of my life), thanks very much.  I’ll be out there somewhere taking photos and laughing instead.