I’m in the middle of a happiness challenge, one of those 21-day initiatives that encourages healthy habits. We’re called to exercise, give thanks, reflect on something positive, perform an act of kindness and spend at least 10 minutes praying or meditating.
I love a good checklist, and nothing motivates me like a challenge, so I’ve been dutifully participating. My biggest hurdle so far: counting my blessings.
There’s no shortage to list. The challenge requires that we list three a day, but I could fill a page in my journal every night.
The trouble is the imbalance.
The day after the deadly sarin gas attack in Syria, when it was time to write my thanksgiving list, I froze. Everything I thought of – safe and cozy home, comfortable bed, healthy children, job I love – seemed so luxurious.
Tears reached the page before I could write a single word. I thought of those children and their short, tumultuous lives. I thought of the families they leave behind. I couldn’t shake the inequity between my privileges and their calamity.
Eventually I jotted:
· A/C that works again in the minivan
· Students who work hard (and those who don’t always but aspire to)
That night I devoted my prayer time to those Syrian families, aid workers and world leaders.
I’m also thankful for easy access to food. I can drive north, east or west and reach a giant, clean grocery store within four minutes.
I don’t even have to walk into the store. I can order my groceries online, pull into a special parking space at the store and listen to the radio or check my email while a clerk loads everything I want in the trunk.
Better yet, I can order from a different vendor online, and someone will deliver the groceries to my doorstep at whatever time I choose. Frozen and refrigerated items are protected by regular ice and dry ice.
If I don’t feel like rinsing, chopping, stirring and heating, I can grab my phone and order from dozens of nearby restaurants. I don’t even have to talk to a human. I can just click, click, click and wait for the doorbell to ring.
Yes, I’m thankful for all of those options.
At the same time, I am horrified by the news this week that almost 20 million people in African and the Middle East are at risk of dying from hunger. Famine, drought and conflict are decimating Nigeria, Somalia, South Sudan and Yemen.
I struggle to celebrate my good fortune while millions of other humans subsist in crisis. They have almost nothing, and we have more than we can enjoy.
One of my acts of kindness this week was to send a tiny loan to a merchant in Yemen, a man who struggles to buy enough stock to sale. (My family has participated in microloans through Kiva since 2013.)
I’m not naïve. I don’t expect my prayers or my loan will change the world.
I hold hope, though, that enough prayers and acts of kindness might.
I am truly grateful for the time and place in which I was born. I am thankful for the few luxuries I’ve earned – and the many more I didn’t.
I give thanks for the people of privilege who devote their lives to helping souls who were born in a time and a place less hospitable than our own.
In the middle of all that gratitude, I keep hoping for a balance in the world, a day when conflicts and famines don’t threaten our neighbors, a day when our brothers and sisters don’t struggle to find happiness.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. You can reach her at firstname.lastname@example.org