Whenever I find myself slipping into a bad attitude, I try to practice gratitude instead. Stifle expectations, reflect on the small things and you just might usher in a moment or two of pure joy. Not to go all Zen here, but it’s no wonder Buddhist monks begin each day chanting their thanks for things like food, shelter and friendship. Gratitude is an acknowledgement that we exist.
Living at elevation and drinking a lot of coffee early in the morning when I write often causes a sensation that I like to call “graltitude.” Think of it as an elevated sense of appreciation. Thanks at 8,000 feet, if you will. So here, in no particular order, are a few things that I feel graltitude for this week. What about you?
Life in the bubble
Here in Park City, we have so much to be grateful for. Open access to hundreds of trails. Blue, sunny mostly smoke-free skies. Good doctors and nurses when we have a mountain bike crash. Smart teachers who go the extra mile for our kids. Sure, any Park City Council candidate will tell you we need more and better real estate development, affordable housing, wages, pickleball courts. Life in our fair city isn’t perfect, but some idiot parking his Bentley sideways at The Market or Joe Biden’s visit making you late for your dip nail polish appointment is hardly a national crisis. Thank you, PC.
Rodeo cowboys
After three years in Utah, I finally did the penultimate wild west-y thing. I went to the Summit County Fair. It was literally my first rodeo. I wasn’t crazy about the tie-down roping — those calves looked seriously traumatized. But I was blown away by the barrel racers and the bull riders and the bareback riders — at least until one of my friends told me about the burrs they put under the saddle to make the broncs buck. And the cowboys. So many cowboys. Leaning on fences. Saddling up. Trotting their horses around the warm-up arena. Hats tipped low over their brooding brows. For the love of god, let your babies grow up to be cowboys. Thanks, Mama.
Paper and pens
I was on a Zoom call recently with about 15 other people. Our faces framed the screen of my tiny laptop like an extended version of the Brady Bunch. Someone was sharing a document that my presbyopic eyes couldn’t quite make out, so I saved it to my desktop and hit print. That’s when I realized my microphone was on. “Just a minute,” one of the participants interrupted. “Is someone printing something?” she asked incredulously. I immediately muted. So sue me. I like paper. Just last week, I ordered three packages of moleskine notebooks and 30 Pilot Precise V5 pens. I keep a paper to-do list and write in a journal every morning. I still have a writer’s bump that developed when I first learned cursive in third grade. From the tips of my ink-stained fingers, thank you, paper.
Smiling strangers
You know those people who walk around grinning for no apparent reason? Like all by themselves, just happy as a pig in poo. What’s that all about? This week, I decided to become one of them. I smiled at the person in the pick-up truck who stopped in the middle of Park Avenue to let me and my dog cross. I beamed at the self-service monitor at Fresh Market who looked so bored, I accidentally on purpose rang up a few things twice just to give her something to do. I rode my e-bike down Main Street and just smiled at absolutely nothing. And suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Thank you, smiling, strange people.
Weird Barbie
I finally saw the Barbie movie last week. Anyone who ever truly loved Barbie can relate to Kate McKinnon’s character in the movie, Weird Barbie. One Christmas when I was little, I got two Malibu Barbies and a doctor kit. Inside the kit was a pair of square-tipped, metal scissors that couldn’t cut through construction paper to save your life. But could they ever do a chop-job on polypropylene doll hair. And how about a touch of lime-green magic marker lipstick, Barbie? Can we stick pins in your ears? Absentmindedly chew on your feet? M’kay. She might’ve been weird, but we were weirder. Simmer down, Susan. It was all in the name of creativity and self-expression. Thanks for keeping it real, Barbie.
Less than 100 days til ski season
I mean, I don’t want to wish time away, but I had my first ski dream the other night. I won’t go into details, but if dreams are any kind of harbinger of real life, it’s gonna be goooood. I already dialed in my Epic and Ikon passes. And yesterday, I made a pile of ski stuff I no longer wear to take to the Christian Center. Summer, it’s been great, but winter is coming. Thank you, ski season. I have so much graltitude for you.