Thankful

It is a blustery afternoon. I put the car in park, step out in my Anne Klein heels and slam the driver side door.  I’m fuming. And not over anything of particular importance either.

A session had to be cancelled because a teacher was sick. Then another was cancelled because a co-worker didn’t come back from New York on time.
A supervisor told me I needed to fix some of my paperwork and I didn’t see the point in it. My lunch order took a long time and so I had to scarf if down like a wolf and then run-make that waddle- like a pack mule with my guitar, bag of instruments, ukulele, bingo board, and silk leaves to a group session.
Then I was told that I need more info on one of my assessments and was sent back to a cottage to annoy staff over petty details I did not think were necessary.
Oh, and did I mention that the night before I drove back from Boston alone until 2:30am. If I can get home from Boston on time to work Monday morning, I think my coworker can pop on over from New York just fine. Sheesh.
Why is my life so frustrating today?!
I’m perseverating and pissed. 

I click over from the parking lot into a residential supervisors office, mumble an apology for taking up his time, and then ask five questions pertaining to a client’s literacy. I jot down my notes and then book it out of there with exaggerated breathing, quickened stride, rolling my eyes at no one in particular, and imagining a quiet home with chai and a biography. Then I see her out of the corner of my eye. I slow down so that she can catch up with me and chat for 30 seconds on the way to the cars.

It’s Shirley. Despite the name, she can’t be more than five years older than me. She is a doll.  We always have been friendly when I come to do music therapy in the cottage with some of the clients she cares for.
“How are you today Shirley?”
“Oh man, I am tired! I just worked a double! Sixteen hours! And I’ve gotta get my baby and then try to nap before coming back here again to do it all over again.”
“Oh my! I’m sorry you have to work so much. Is the cottage understaffed?”
“Eh, it’s fine. I just got a divorce really recently, so the work keeps my mind off of it. Besides, when I work an overnight shift, my baby gets to stay the night with her grandparents and she loves that!”

Upon hearing her last two sentences, I feel all frustration towards work dissipate.

Shirley does direct care, so she’s cleaning up poop, feeding people, redirecting behaviors, assembling wheelchairs, fussing with feeding tubes, washing other people’s laundry, calming tantrums, and comforting the concerned all day. To top it, she is under 30, a single momma with a little girl, freshly rid herself of an asshole husband and working 16-hour days. And here on the concrete, with her tired feet, dirty ponytail, and a mind probably filled with thoughts of child-support checks and a new apartment, Shirley is one of the most beautiful things a person can be: thankful. Shirley is thankful. Optimistic. Looking at the bright side, silver lining, cup half-full, or whatever cheesy thing you want to call it.

The remarkable thing about thankfulness is that no matter your surroundings or circumstances, there is no reason for its absence. There is always, always, always something to be thankful for. Always. When you find what you have to be grateful for, you somehow seem to feel life fuller than before.

Be joyful. Be grateful. Be thankful.
For isn’t it true? What you don’t have is much less than what you do.