Toward the end of my non-stop flight into Los Angeles this week, I looked down at my left thumb to catch a fresh glimpse of my new ring, but there was no silver in sight. I searched the floor and my handbag before sitting back in my seat to think deep.
Remember that scene in Home Alone when Kevin's mom is on the plane, and she suddenly realizes she left something behind?
I'd taken the ring off to wash my hands in a JFK Airport bathroom, and it probably didn't have to wait very long on the shelf above the sink before it had a taker.
I'm not just appreciative of the good stuff that happens. I consciously consider myself lucky when the less-than-good stuff didn't turn out worse. An article I skimmed last week suggested that the secret to individual happiness and success is gratitude, and that people who exclusively dwell on the negative aspects of their day or an experience can never be happy.
In the past 72 hours, I'm grateful that: the ring I lost and won't find wasn't one of the expensive or sentimental-value ones; I got to take a walk on the beach with a friend who I hadn't seen in more than a year; and even though my overrated Hollywood hotel didn't offer a complimentary breakfast, its complimentary lemonade might be the best citrus concoction I've ever tasted.
The realists, critics, and sarcasm specialists can be just as excited about being alive and well as anyone else. Sometimes more so.
Such Masterpieces…My Masterpieces…
1 week ago