So I wrote one: I wanted to write a book about the closing gender gap on risky drinking, the sort of book I had needed so urgently when I was wrestling with my own confounding, messy slide into addiction. I wanted to write a book that laid it all bare and made sense of the reasons why high- functioning, professional women like myself were using alcohol to self-medicate and numb. I would call my book The Drinking Diaries. I tucked my intention into a notebook and set it aside. For 40 days, I followed Beattie’s formula to the letter. I wrote my gratitude list with a twist, thanking for the things breaking my heart, for my fear of the future, and for my seemingly never-ending despair. I thanked for the lessons of addiction, the challenge of depression, and the wide- open space of being unemployed. I thanked for my newly single status and the fact it was the flip side of being exquisitely loved. I thanked for my mother’s dedication in the face of my father’s advanced alcoholism—alcoholism being our family curse. I tried to be unflinching, leaning into all the grief and fear. Reluctantly, I began to see life not as a tragedy, but as an exploration . Day by day, I led my dog’s body through the boggiest parts of the woods, sniffing the foliage, stepping over fallen logs, slipping on moss, and craning for light. Slowly, we made our way toward the clearing. Eventually, we emerged from the darkest parts of the forest, a little more integrated and whole. I have never abandoned the habit of thanking for the tough stuff. Here is what I know. There’s a strange alchemy to gratitude: it works when you’re not looking, in a quiet, subterranean way, molecule by molecule.
Over time, you can make enormous shifts in how you view the world and how you move through it. Gratitude is a muscle, like any other: let it get flabby, and your sense of perspective disappears; work it daily, and the effects are undeniable. It takes a hammer to “ if-this- then-that” thinking: if I get the perfect job/romance/house, if I win the lottery, then I will be happy. Gratitude sits you down, where you are, and opens your eyes to what’s before you: the ever-peeling artichoke of life, with layer upon layer of connection. None of us know where it all ends. What is it not? Gratitude is not happiness— although it can be a pre-cursor to happiness . Gratitude is not blind positive thinking, but it can be a positive ally. Gratitude brings equanimity. It grounds us. It helps battle anxiety and depression. It helps reframe the more difficult stuff life throws our way. Gratitude is all about paying attention. And what about my intention? Well, it came true. After 40 days, I signed a book deal on exactly the subject I had set my heart on—a book deal for what became Drink. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. It came swiftly, unequivocally—and it changed my life. A big book deal, beyond my dreams. Rightly or wrongly, I have yet to set another intention. I don’t like giving the universe a shopping list. But still, I give thanks for the blessings, and I give thanks for the tough stuff. Like the Taoist farmer, I’ve decided to open my mind to the mysterious maybes. And in doing so? I am living in the moment, making room for joy: for Frankie’s first birthday, for my dog’s metronome tail, and yes, for the promise of a bright red cedar canoe.
. Ann Dowsett Johnston is the bestselling author of Drink: The Intimate Relationship Between Women and Alcohol, and the driving force behind Writing Your Recovery and Writing Your Discovery , two popular memoir-writing courses .She is working on her first book of fiction. Click HERE HOLA SOBER | MADRID
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