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A Little Gratitude

But then I wrote ninety-one in the first week. continued...

The next morning, as I set the notes down in front of me, I expected I'd be able to think of little else except my imminent demise. When I looked at the blank notes, my new memory kicked in. The day hadn't been that bad. One guy had lent me a book on pigeons that I liked very much already. I'd also received a large discount on a poker table I wanted. I had plenty to write about. I wanted to write my boss, too. I felt like I had something to say.

I started in, because I knew I could. The discipline told me this much: Gratitude requires some measure of humility. I didn't quit, or tell him to piss off, or ask for another meeting. I sidestepped my anger and thanked him for his time. It turned out to be all he could offer me, and I told him I was glad to know that much. Knowing that — really understanding it on a level I could reach only by sitting down to write the note — made it easier to consider what had passed, and what might still be to come. I was grateful for that.

 

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