Create Daily Time For Gratefulness To Reaffirm Your Contentment

He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not but rejoices for those which he has.

epictetus

Today I am celebrating my 50^th birthday.

This is a big one worth throwing an all-white party. Sadly, I am not good at organizing parties. I am the guy you will always invite but will hardly make a return. For this reason, I will not summon my lifetime friends and partners in crime to help me rejoice in crossing this line. Besides, there’s the downside of turning fifty. It is a definite halfway to the grave! Nothing more, and it sucks. But that is how life is. There is always an opposing end of the stick.

So today I have a choice, to celebrate my making it to half-life and feeling like I have won a prestigious prize.  Or worrying about what I have done with this portion of time and contemplate the reality of my imminent mortality. The certainty of death in another 50 years at most. Well, none of these two is easy for me. I have chosen to do both in moderation. Reflecting on the reality of my impermanence, but most importantly, being grateful for every little thing and experience that I have been given over this long-life period.

Seeing young people is always a reminder of the journey of life.

While walking one morning this week in the beautiful Nandi South Forest, I came across countless ‘mono’ schoolboys and girls with their parents. Walking, riding on motorcycles, matatus, or family cars. Blue mattresses, handmade tin boxes and all paraphernalia that goes with a boarding secondary school newbie.

Seeing these kids reminded me of a similar day in my life. The day I bid my mother and siblings goodbye and left the village to start a new life. The parting was somehow nostalgic. I was not just leaving behind the people I loved but also, the hardship of the homestead. I was going to a place without ploughing, weeding, or harvesting my own food. I would no longer be a sun-baked cowherd, nor the one expected to mind about domestic animals more than himself.

Going to boarding school was breaking free from oppressive village chores.

Like the long night vigils keeping cows’ company for them to sleep comfortably while I battled the vile mosquitoes of Mwea. Or, forgoing the Sunday afternoon inter-village soccer match to guard calves and goat kids to eat some tender fodder in between much-treasured cornrows. I would bathe with water I had not fetched in boarding school and eat food that had not smoked me into tears. I was to sleep on a foam mattress and not share a bed every night. I was to wear shoes and underwear daily, and brushing teeth would no longer be a Sunday morning privilege.  I would learn to speak English and make friends with rich kids and girls from distant lands.

I was on the way to becoming one of the most revered boys in my village. The ones who walked the narrow dusty paths with girls, speaking some very broken English. A language to conceal love messages and other secrets from illiterate villagers. My hand callouses would disappear and usher a supple handshake to attract girlfriends. The cracks on my heels would smoothen, and my skin tone rejuvenate in the safety of shaded classrooms. Most importantly, this journey marked the beginning of a transition to good education and life in the city.

That sunny morning in January 1987, I left with my father, he peddling his rustic bicycle and me clutching on its seat. With my prestigious tin box and a cheap foam mattress hunched between my tummy and my father’s back. The 10-kilometre journey to the tarmac road felt less bumpy and unusually long. For the first time, I did not notice the racing drama of bicycle riders nor the things I usually admired while at the back of my father’s ‘vehicle’.  There was something more exciting about the journey with my father, just the two of us. It had never happened before, due to cultural reasons. In my village, children belonged to women.

Many years would see my dream for schooling and kissing the village a slow goodbye come to pass. Now being a grown man who has somehow lived to see most of his childhood wishes granted, I am thankful for what I have been given. Regrettably, I spent most of my adult life without learning how to reflect and count my blessings. Never knowing to slow down and take stock of the wishes that I have seen fulfilled. I got too busy chasing what I did not have and left no time to give thanks for what I already had.

Today, I am not just thankful for living 18,263 days and nights.

Nah. Nor for possessing the things that every village boy of my age would have wished for.  I am most grateful for the simple things in life that I may not have known how to hope for. Like the sun that bathes my skin and nourishes all life on this planet. The plants that die to feed me and the soil that has kept them alive. The rivers and springs that quench my thirst and keep me clean and hydrated. The wind and beautiful landscapes that so often bring me transcendence and rekindle my spirit.

I no longer count on the assets and riches that I may have or have not. I give most thanks to my body and brain. The feet that have carried me all my life, and the hands that have held all things precious. Without them, I would not know the joy of cuddling and rocking my babies or enjoying the warm embrace of my loved ones. My eyes have taken in all the beauty of this earth in places that I have lived and visited. My ears have been faithful in letting me enjoy beautiful conversations and soulful music. My tongue has given me the joy of tasting and enjoying the foods and meals put together by wonderful people. My heart has allowed me to feel the love and joy of my relationships. And never has it skipped a single beat, keeping me alive. This list is endless.

I am thankful for all the people I have met in my life.

I now know that being a ‘self-made man’ is one of the most nonsensical cliches ever coined. I am a product of love and kindness from the people I know and many others that I do not. Like the woman who midwifed my mother and held me with her hands. The first arms that I rested on in this world. The nurse who helped my mother clutch me for the first suckle, or the cook in the hospital kitchen who made the healing, afterbirth broth. The woman who helped her hold baby me while painfully hoisting herself on my father’s bicycle on the way home. I am grateful.

Our neighbours who treated me kindly while on a mission to borrow salt or matchsticks. The mothers who offered me a plate of salted githeri, sharing out the little they had spared for their malnourished children. Teachers, instructors and lecturers who had faith in the returns of teaching me. Nurses, clinicians and doctors who have done so much to save my life, right from conception. The careful drivers who have swerved their vehicles to avoid running me over or head-on collisions in my not-so-keen or drunken travels. The farmers whose hands have grown all the food I have eaten, and the beautiful people who have made and served the meals I have enjoyed throughout my life.

My health, family, career, and all is a product of people’s kindness.

The long-gone generations of my families, where I was born and have married, somehow made way for me to become. My parents, wife’s parents, siblings, and relatives have shaped me and my family to be who we are. All the workers who built and have served my home. Tending, nourishing, and protecting us, at times, doing so while neglecting their own, just because I have been blessed enough to afford their pays. The gardeners who have tended to lawns that have nourished my soul. The fixers and movers of all the cars, planes and boats I have travelled in. All the people who invested and run businesses that have helped me in any way this far. They all deserve my gratitude.

The journey of my career has seen me hand-held and mentored by many delightful people. Those who have opened doors that I never saw. And those who have given me their shoulders to stand on. I have learnt enormously from people who had faith in my professional growth. Those people who know that the only way to contribute to humanity is to make others thrive. Others have worked hard and given out to society, and in so doing, I have become a big beneficiary of their sweat and generosity. Mostly, these people don’t know me, don’t speak my language, or even have the colour of my skin.

Gratitude is the reason why I will not throw myself a Big 50 party.

There is no doubt that life is worth a celebration. But I will not party because if I keenly look at what I have been given, my life has been one big party. There is plenty to eat and drink, good health, loving and joyful people around me, a choice of clothing, and beautiful spaces for living in and visiting. These things may not be unique or luxurious, but are they not the same elements of a celebratory party? Especially if one lives in a relatively poor African nation. Today, therefore, I should be grateful for living a life of the daily party. 

I always wonder how many people were born the same day and time with me and still live today. How many of them possibly died the same day, or the day after, or even yesterday? How many will be lucky enough to survive today? How many have been privileged to live the kind of life that I lead? And how many others were born that day and years after and died while I continue living? Even those who will be delivered today might die and leave me alive. When one starts to reflect on mortality and how many things would have killed them by now, it becomes the beginning of understanding that living long, healthy, and providently is not merely a personal achievement. It is the work of God and people, more than by the self.

Please receive my special thanks.

All of you, even those who do not know me. You have played a role in my life. Knowingly or unknowingly, you have made me somehow. My wife, parents, children, relatives, close friends, colleagues, workers, neighbours, clubmates, teachers, schoolmates, preachers, and all have given me guidance, support, and kindness. Everyone I have met ever since I was born has touched my life in a way. Many others have done things for me, and I will never know how, when and where they did it. The complexity of the acts of love, care, prayers, generosity, and all is profound and beyond my comprehension.

Your blessings, too, are beyond measure.

The prevalent scarcity mentality has ruined our lives with never-ending misery. Living in today’s materialistic world, we are taught to look at what we do not have, other than what we already have. It has cultured us to count our blessings with belongings. Misconstruing the fact that possessions are only a part of our blessings; just things money can buy. However, if you start to understand that you are enough, with or without those things, then you begin to find abundance. And in abundance, you find contentment and a foundation for gratitude.

This feeling puts you in the space of higher vibration, a joyful place where greater peace and abundance dwell. In this place, you will find a lot more than you ever dreamed of. Oprah Winfrey said, “Be thankful for what you have; you’ll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don’t have, you will never, ever have enough.” This means that gratitude begets contentment and contentment unleashes abundance.

Let us all learn to constantly reflect on the abundance in our lives. Taking time to enjoy what we have been given, no matter how little it may appear. In the words of author Robert Brault “Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” The things you may not be taking time to notice and give thanks for, are likely to be the most precious in the near future.

In the days when your life will begin ending, it is the little things, not the big ones, that will indeed come to matter.