by Mick Rhodes | editor@claremont-courier.com

“Gratitude” is quite the buzz-word these days. We’re bombarded with gratitude posts on social media, told to be grateful for everything, even our losses.

As I began thinking about my annual year-end gratitude list I was struck by how heavy it felt, and how the act itself was helping alleviate some of the weight. I realized what it meant to be grateful for the setbacks, because they remind us how quickly things can change, and in turn help us cherish our blessings even more.

This year has been like that for me, and so many of us.

But suffering doesn’t have to shut us down. We can be in crisis and still do good work. We can be in mourning and still help. In fact, any act of service or kindness works to mend our sorrow, even if only for that moment. It all matters; even the smallest action propels hope forward for us and the people it impacts.

With that in mind, I begin this year’s gratitude list with helping. I’m grateful for opportunities to help. Volunteering, giving, serving, and supporting — in whatever capacity — helps me cope with the sadness of the world. I don’t do a lot, but what I do resonates for days, making the hard stuff less awful, and the good stuff sweeter.

Fatherhood saved me. It gave me purpose. Every family has its trials and tragedies, mine included, but I’ve been at this for more than 40 years now, and the joys have far exceeded the sorrows. My children are mostly grown. I’ve only recently had time to truly reflect on all that’s happened. I’m proud of them. And I count myself as an enormously lucky dude to have been given the gift of fatherhood. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done or will do, in every sense. I am grateful.

Though I’ve taken a circuitous route to be sure, I’ve been very lucky in romantic love. Lisa and I  have a circular and true partnership of support and admiration. I’m still fascinated by her. I long for her. To feel all this, at my somewhat advanced age, is something I do not take for granted. I am grateful for my beautiful wife and the love we share.

My grandfather and I took a road trip to Austin in 2000 to see my cousin’s new baby. Grandpa was 85, still working, and by all accounts still healthy and spry. He even had a girlfriend. That first day we made more than 600 miles. He drove the entire way. There were long stretches over the day’s 10-hour drive where we said nothing. Other times I peppered him with questions about his life, what he’d seen, and what he thought. When we finally checked in to a motel in Deming, New Mexico I was exhausted. If he was, he didn’t show it. As we were bunking down that night I had one more question: “What keeps you going? I mean, you’re still doing all the things you’ve always done. How do you do it?” His simple answer has stuck with me. “You have to have someone depending on you.” I thought I understood him then, but I didn’t.

I do now.

He was talking about purpose. He’d spent his whole life being that guy. He was still that guy at 85.

I joke with friends that I always thought my work would be winding down by the time I was in my 60s, but it’s doing the opposite. I gripe, but deep down I know grandpa was right: purpose and purposeful work are a great way to remain vital. I’m grateful to have both.

There was a time, say in my 20s and 30s, when I counted a dozen or so very close friends, and dozens more I considered close. I really didn’t think much about it. I figured this was how life goes. But as many of us older folks know, that’s not always the case.

It’s not that I’ve become a recluse. I haven’t. But my relationship with my friends is much different. I have a handful of really close ones, another slightly larger group I’m close with, and a bunch of people I see sporadically at shows and whatnot. But we’re not talking dozens any more, and I am fine with it. I’ve known some of my friends for 40 years or more, and nothing beats that shared history. I’m grateful to have walked through life with them.

I’ve had the great fortune of late to have traveled extensively. This has been a blessing and a curse. The blessing is it’s a fantastically beautiful world out there, full of history, incredibly interesting people, architecture, food, music, and art. Seeing how other people live has served to enhance my appreciation for so much more than my little currently fraught American bubble.

Experiencing this has also resulted in a considerable amount of envy, so much so that for years now Lisa and I have dreamed of living somewhere else, somewhere “green and serene.” It’s not likely we’ll ever move away though. We have nine kids. But still, we dream. Seeing other places and cultures has been a blessing too; it’s helped me put America and its unique traumas in perspective. Hell, it’s helped me put everything in perspective. I still believe in the promise of America. I hope my kids and grandkids get to see it blossom into a better version of itself. I’m grateful to have been able to travel and see America from a wider lens. I’m rooting for it, for us.

Of course, none of this stuff is possible without being healthy enough to enjoy it. I am definitely most lucky to be relatively healthy at 62. My big cancer scare was 18 years ago. Knocking wood, I’ve been OK on that front since.

I’ve become a bit of a hypochondriac, getting all manner of lumps, weird rashes, random new pains and such checked out promptly. Longevity isn’t a thing in my immediate family; my dad was gone at 60 and my mom at 73. I’ve altered my lifestyle a bit, minimizing or eliminating some bad habits. My mental health isn’t the best, but I’m working on it. I watch my step in all ways. My grandfather’s downward slide began after he tripped over the garden hose in the back yard and busted his hip. That’s always rattling around in my head, so I’m constantly monitoring my terrain for possible trip hazards, like a paunchy, gray-haired Terminator. So yes, I am very, very grateful to be ambulatory, mostly with it cognitively, and healthy enough to move around the world and be here to love my people.

I’m grateful for it all, even the aches and pains, some of which are probably something terrible.