It was just the sort of quirky present I love: a miniature leather-bound book—so small it fits in my palm. It has a surprising number of pages for such a tiny tome, and it’s all held together with an ornate clasp.

All its pages are blank.

The giver suggested these empty pages could record my thanks throughout the year.

I began jotting three things each day, though over time my entries became less regular—but gratitude, I learned, isn’t about perfection.

Studies have long shown that gratitude can improve our inner wellbeing. It lowers the risk of mental distress and boosts our emotions by activating brain regions associated with reward, leading to feelings of contentment. 

But now there’s evidence that the physical body also benefits. Experiencing gratitude may help seniors live longer, according to a new study from Harvard T. H. Chan School of Public Health.

Another study came up on my news feed once that showed people are most grateful for the smaller pleasures of life. This was true across income levels. That’s good news for seniors on a fixed income.

My itty-bitty book holds big things, but many more everyday joys. When the mountains glowed pink at sunrise. Going out to shovel my sidewalks, and they were already cleared. A perfect cup of coffee. A road trip with an old friend. 

Discovering a new favorite song. A delicious spinach omelet. A friend’s spontaneous “birthday eve” celebration for me. More-than-usual family time. My grandbaby floating contentedly in a hotel pool. The mysterious spring appearance of a sunny daffodil where I had never planted one. Doing new things. Doing hard things. 

One taxing day, when everything felt like too much, my granddaughter made a cotton ball “fortune cookie” for me with a small slip of paper inside that said, “Keep going.” 

It was a cloudy spring evening when a group of women were gathering at a restaurant downtown. I had commitments and knew I’d be late, but I went anyway. 

Baerbel, 92, was also running behind, so we shared a table. She asked insightful questions, her clear blue eyes attentive, as I savored my warm soup on that drizzly night. 

She told of her childhood in Germany and going to bed when it was so cold there was ice on the walls. Just as I was feeling sorry for her childhood self, she said, “Well! You sleep better that way, and we had feather blankets.”

She was grateful for feather blankets, and I was thankful for her company.

Repairing something, when that’s not my superpower. Finding lost items. Funny texts. Speed Scrabble. 

Hearing from an intern I worked with years ago: “This year is my 30th in publishing, and it all started with you.” I’m quite sure she would have found her way without me, but her kind words brought me joy.  

I absolutely don’t live a Pollyanna life. It’s very real, with trying times and stress occurring at all-too-regular intervals. Yet even on those days, or when my discipline wanes and I don’t put pen to mini book, there’s still much to be thankful for. It just lives appreciatively in the gratitude journal of my brain. 

It may take me two years to fill up my lil’ journal instead of just one, but this Thanksgiving, I know:

There is always something to be grateful for. ν