A Pair of Glasses and A Funny Hat

This past weekend, I spent time with some of my family - apple picking, visiting a fair with a demolition derby, going on a ghost tour, playing music together, watching scary movies, painting, crafting, and sharing a delicious Thanksgiving dinner. The weather was perfect - crisp air, warm sun, that golden kind of light that only autumn seems to know how to make.

It was one of those weekends that feels like a hug. The kind that lingers.

And as we drove home from the demolition derby, full of gratitude. I kept thinking how different I feel these days compared to years ago.

Just over a year ago, I was hit by a car. The recovery wasn’t easy - physically or emotionally, and it’s still a work in progress. And earlier that same year, both of my in-laws were diagnosed with cancer. My mom and stepfather have faced scary health challenges too. For a while, it felt like every direction I turned, there was something heavy, heartbreaking, or hard waiting for me.

I won’t even go into my teens, twenties, and early thirties. But, if you’d told me then that I’d one day be writing about being grateful, I probably would’ve rolled my eyes and laughed. Hard.

For years, people tried to tell me that my anger at life was rooted in my perspective. That if I just “chose” to see things differently, I’d be happier. I remember how much that used to irritate me - how invalidating it felt to hear that when I was hurting. It’s not that I didn’t want to see the good; I just couldn’t. The lens I was looking through was scratched and foggy from years of disappointment and pain.

But slowly, something changed - and I worked hard at it.

It wasn’t a single moment of awakening or some grand epiphany. It was small. Gentle. Gradual. Like the way dawn creeps up before you even notice the light has changed.

I started noticing things. The warmth of my tea in the morning. The way my dog’s tail goes crazy when I walk into a room. My husband’s laugh, and my daughter’s fun sense of humour. My son’s warmth, the smell of dinner cooking, and the feeling of being included, of being loved.

And at first, I didn’t even realize that what I was doing - this noticing - was gratitude.

Because gratitude isn’t about ignoring pain or pretending everything is fine. It’s about acknowledging the good even when life isn’t perfect. It’s recognizing that joy and sorrow can (and often do) coexist.

Now, when I look back, I see that gratitude didn’t just help me feel better - it helped me heal.

I still have days where I’m tired, frustrated, or scared about what’s next. But even in those moments, I find myself reaching for the good. Not because everything is good, but because something always is.

And here’s the thing: the more I practice noticing the good, the more it seems to appear.

It’ s just like when you notice a new kind of car - you’ve never seen anything like it and it’s really cool… and then you start seeing it everywhere!

Sometimes I think about people who are still where I once was - angry, sad, or stuck in a loop of “why me?” - and I wish I could help them see. Not in a patronizing way, not in a “just be positive” kind of way (because that phrase makes me cringe), but in a deeply human way.

If only there were a set of glasses I could hand them. One’s that would let them see how much beauty still exists, even in the midst of pain. Or maybe a funny hat that would tickle their brain just right, reminding them that gratitude doesn’t erase hardship - it simply shines a light where darkness has settled too long.

Being thankful, I’ve realized, is both selfish and selfless. It’s selfish because it makes me feel better - it lifts my mood, softens my heart, and fills me with peace. But it’s also selfless, because gratitude radiates outward. When we express it - when we tell people we’re thankful for them, or simply live in appreciation - it becomes contagious. It brightens the room. It gives others permission to notice the good in their own lives too.

This Thanksgiving, I’m grateful for so many things - for my family, my chance to go back to school, for healing, for resilience, for laughter. For warm pie and good music and the way sunlight filters through the trees. For the people who stayed beside me when I wasn’t easy to be around.

But mostly, I’m grateful for the ability to see all of it. For the clarity I once lacked.

Gratitude doesn’t change what happens to us, but it does change how we carry it.

And I think, in the end, that’s what life is about - not just surviving the storm, but finding the small, steady things that remind us of the sun.

Here’s to funny hats, clear lenses, and hearts that know how to notice.

Ⓒ October 2025. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.