Inspiration & Updates from Wake Up Grateful ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏
Sunrise over ocean with cloudy sky

“Grateful living is an intimate orientation to life. The more gratefully we dare to approach and engage with life, the more intimately we will experience it…”
— Kristi Nelson, Wake Up Grateful

Dear Subscriber First Name,

The other day, I took a very long walk in the rain. It wasn’t because it was dry when I left the house and the rain took me by surprise, or because dry skies were predicted. No, it was already raining pretty hard and it was 100% predicted to rain all day, but out I went anyway. No raincoat. No boots. No umbrella. Just me, “warmed up” temps in the low 40’s, and endless raindrops looking for places to land. I was glad to be among them.

Do you ever have days when you long to feel more intimate with the world? To more fully sense your own belonging? That’s how I felt when I decided not to let the prospect of future discomfort keep me inside the walls of my house and mind, and I simply walked out into the rain. I wanted my whole swath of skin to be subject to the weather; to feel everything. To be permeable. Drenched. Uncomfortable, even. I wanted to walk toward something it was tempting to want to avoid. To say “yes” to the fullness of the day and all it held, trusting that being in communion with what was challenging would offer me more peace than resisting it. And, it did.

When it literally feels like the world is on fire and drowning right now, why would a long walk in the rain matter? Because I believe that we can build our spiritual musculature through everything we do, and can gain perspective in every moment, if we choose. It all depends on how we do it. I share my rainy walk with you because I trust that gratefulness invites us to live as though there is nothing we can do that does not matter, to live as though everything we do registers in some - even small - way, everything rippling - even nearby - somewhere.

“How you do anything is how you do everything,” is among my favorite quotes. It’s by Zen teacher Cheri Huber. It’s one of those perfect perspective prompts for me, like a koan, waking me up as I can’t afford to be lazy in relating to it. It’s sweeping and inviting, and yet slightly baffling…just enough to stretch my mind. It challenges me, and therefore changes me. It invites me toward greater integrity and intention. “How you do anything is how you do everything.” Perhaps how I engage with the weather will help me know how to more fully engage with the world. Perhaps this is true about many things I can easily overlook. Perhaps this is true for you, too.

Choosing not to turn away from all that is hard and heartbreaking is a rigorous moment-to-moment practice these days. Choosing - at the same time - to stay attentive to all that is worthy of our praise and preservation is also a rigorous practice. In the face of how much heartbreak many of us are feeling, it is especially critical and courageous to continue to live gratefully; to take nothing for granted. To notice and name beauty. To tend love. To prioritize joy. Exactly because having a broken heart is having an open heart, we are more permeable in heartache. And yes, as Leonard Cohen says, that proverbial crack in everything (and everyone) may be how the light gets IN, but it is also how our light gets out.

For me, walking is a daily gratefulness practice precisely because it puts me more deeply in communion with all that is true - the ache and the light. And it never fails to deliver perspective. Taking nothing for granted, I am always moved that my legs can move, and I often say “thank you” over and over as I step. I choose to believe that it’s a privilege to be able to move my body, and as I walk I remember that:

  • My Dad would give anything to be able to walk again.

  • My Mom would love to be back in her body enjoying the gift of movement, as so many people would.

  • As babies, we strive long and hard just to get upright and be able to toodle our way across a room into the arms of a beckoning loved one.

  • When I had cancer in my spine, then surgery and treatment, I could not walk without assistance. And one day in the wildly unknowable future, this will inevitably be true again…

How can we not thank our perfectly imperfect bodies as they move, in whatever ways they can, reminding us of the gift of our aliveness? Every moment grants us an opportunity to be grateful for the extraordinary ordinary.

It is now spring in the northern hemisphere and every day there are new sounds, smells, and sights to savor. Can you open your senses to notice all that is changing around and inside you? The landscape is not the same on any evening as it was in the morning. Neither are you. Neither is anyone. Take a few, intentional, deep breaths. Be astonished by the resilience of your body and our earth. Trust that every iota of goodness that you let yourself take in is taking care of you, nourishing your capacity to turn towards life with great fullness of heart. Let life en-light-en you.

May the words and resources in this museletter, and on my website, support you as you move through whatever season of life you are in. Know that I am honored to be in community with - and walking beside - you.

From my grateful heart to yours -

Kristi Nelson
Author, Wake Up Grateful

 

An Antidote to Despair, and…

a short interview about savoring the world

“The opportunity of this moment, perhaps, is to be in touch with how much we each love the world and other people and what we are committed to protecting.”

 READ/WATCH THE INTERVIEW 
 

All That Is Glorious Around Us

a poem by Barbara Crooker

“….how we never think about the glories
of breath, oxygen cascading down our throats to the lungs,
simple as the journey of water over a rock…”

 ENJOY THE WHOLE POEM 
 

Dancing Anyway:

a two-minute video-story about my dance with cancer

In 2015, when I was a 22-year stage IV cancer survivor, I made a short “video” as part of a digital storyelling event sponsored by our local public radio and TV outlets. Now, at 66 years old, I rejoice at being twice the age I was when I got diagnosed, and the reflections I share in this story still speak my truth.

 WATCH THE SHORT VIDEO STORY 
 

If this monthly museletter has been meaningful to you, please consider buying me a cup of coffee to help sustain my work. Thanks!

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