Uncouthfully Thankful
Being thankful without any humility is not couth. We should never look at a person in a demeaning manner and be thankful we are not them. Very few of us take the time to understand why an individual is where they are. We assume that it was their folly that brought them to their place in life. How stable are we? Would we react much different if we were violently shoved to the threshold of breaking? We are not immune to emotional trauma. We too are capable of breaking.
I have met people who wish they were me. This is a foolish thought. There is a difference between wanting to be a certain person, and wanting to be like them. I have taken on traits from others that I deemed worth copying. I have yet to meet a person that I wanted to trade places with. My jaded past helps remind me that we all have went through our own period of tribulations. I have no interest in adopting that. I’m content in living my life.
We should always be thankful, and be humble when we give thanks. As good as we have it, there will always be someone looking down at us, and under their breath, they too will be thankful they are not us. 🙂
stevenjcurtis 
February 8, 2016 at 8:41 am
Thank you 😊
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February 8, 2016 at 8:42 am
I completely agree with, for some we think the grass is greener on the other side, when in reality we should just spend more time watering our own lawns. My mother always reminded me that no matter how bad I think things are, there is always someone else out there who is worse off than me. I think you are right that we should learn to be more humble when accepting gratitude and thanks for others.
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February 8, 2016 at 9:01 am
Yes, a story…
There is a story — probably urban legend, but full of truth nonetheless — concerning the famous violinist Itzhak Perlman. One evening, Perlman was in New York to give a concert. As a child he had been stricken with polio and so getting on stage is no small feat for him. He wears braces on both legs and walks with two crutches. Perlman labors across the stage slowly, until he reaches the chair in which he seats himself to play.
As soon as he appeared on stage that night, the audience applauded and then waited respectfully as he made his way slowly across the stage to his chair. He took his seat, signaled to the conductor to begin, and began to play.
No sooner had he finished the first few bars than one of the strings on his violin snapped with a report like gunshot. At that point Perlman was close enough to the beginning of the piece that it would have been reasonable to have brought the concert to a halt while he replaced the string, to begin again. But that’s not what he did. He waited a moment and then signaled the conductor to pick up just where they had left off.
Perlman now had only three strings with which to play his soloist part. He was able to find some of the missing notes on adjoining strings, but where that wasn’t possible, he had to rearrange the music on the spot in his head so that it all still held together.
He played with passion and artistry, spontaneously rearranging the symphony right through to the end. When he finally rested his bow, the audience sat for a moment in stunned silence. And then they rose to their feet and cheered wildly. They knew they had been witness to an extraordinary display of human skill and ingenuity.
Perlman raised his bow to signal for quiet. “You know,” he said, “it is the artist’s task to make beautiful music with what you have left.”
We have to wonder, was he speaking of his violin strings or his crippled body? And is it true only for artists? We are all lacking something and so we are challenged to answer the question: Do we have the attitude of making something of beauty out of what we have, incomplete as it may be?”
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