Giving Micro-Thanks

By Melanie Dale

The music cranked up and my feet started stepping back and forth, my long arms pumping up and down. I felt strong in my Nikes, Lululemons, and Monty Python bloody bunny graphic tee. I love starting the week with Zumba. Part of my workout routine has become variations on the sentiment “thank you for my health, for my body, for this practice, and that I get to do this.” 

I grinned, silently beginning the words to my inner prayer, a sort of ritual of gratitude I’ve adopted over the years. “Thank you for this aagghhhh.” My feet kept moving to the beat, but my brain scratched like a record. I felt tears burn hotter than my muscles and I gritted my teeth. Damn. My legs kept the beat, but I no longer felt connected to my body, my betrayer. 

Here we are in this month of thankfulness and I’m having to relearn how to be thankful. I used to thank God for my work, but then that took a major hit in the pandemic balls, and I shifted my thankfulness to my health. After all, I may not have much in the way of work but I have my health, and with the world getting sick, that’s not something to take for granted. 

Only I am no longer healthy. 

I handle big things really well. Little things will make me lose my mind but the bigger things are, the calmer I get. 

Everything is fine. Just let me reattach this severed limb, pull the axe out of my skull, and shove my intestines back in my abdomen. See? Right as rain. As the Black Knight says in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, “Tis but a scratch… just a flesh wound.”

I sat my kids down and told them, “I’m going to say a scary word but I’m not scared, and I’m going to be fine.” Then I told them about breast cancer and proceeded to make one million boob jokes till everyone was laughing.

I am okay, I’m going to be okay, but during this month of Thanksgiving, I’m acutely aware that my practice of gratitude is changing. In some ways, health issues are teaching me a healthier way to give thanks.

My thankfulness is becoming more in the moment, boiling it down to this very minute. Thank you for the ability to move my body TODAY. Thank you for my current Zumba that is happening exactly now, because all future Zumbas are not guaranteed.

No more sweeping gestures. No more grand statements of thankfulness. It’s smaller but in some ways these micro-thanks are more significant for the way I’m gleaning each day for them.

I planned one last fun night out with my friends before surgery and the radioactive road to recovery. One last night to put on a fancy dress and eat exorbitant steak, because future fancy dresses and steaks are not guaranteed. The day before, I woke up with my left eye swollen completely shut. A rogue stye had swooped in to threaten my fancy feast, and I spent the day blinded by ointment. Cancer I could take, but this too? This was a new low. As I applied warm compresses, I grasped for gratitude. 

Thank you for this *insert guttural scream*.
Thank you for this *steps in steaming pile of poo*.
Thank you for this *sudden explosion*.

Thank you for the soothing heat from this microwaved sock filled with rice. Thank you for my eye doc fitting me into his schedule. Thank you for Khaleesi my Maltipoo who curled up and warmed my lap… until she rolled in poop, and I had to bathe her with one eye and no depth perception. 

Thank you for sweet smelling doggie shampoo and running water.

Thank you for a husband and friends who make eye patch jokes and greet me with “Arrrr, matey.”

The puffiness receded and my fancy dinner was one of those nights I’ll remember the rest of my life, with good food, great wine, and the most wonderful friends. Thank you for the big moments and all the little ones in between.

I’m developing a ritual of micro-thanks, and hey, tiny is in. We see tiny homes and fairy gardens and there’s that adorable tiny chef on Instagram who everyone’s obsessed with. We collect tiny succulents and wear tiny shirts (with huge jeans—I’m unsure about this trend). 

So in the spirit of tiny things, I’m embracing tiny gratitude. Not that there is less gratitude but that I’m finding it in tiny bursts for tiny things. Gone are the days of “I love my whole life thank you for my awesome liiiife.” That’s a high bar and after the couple of years we’ve all had that feels inauthentic and unattainable. No, I find myself walking around my house saying “thank you for this warm mug in my hand,” knowing I’ll set it down, and it’ll get cold but appreciating the warmth in the moment. “Thank you for today’s health, for getting out of bed today, for food that tastes good at this moment because taste buds aren’t guaranteed and who knows what tomorrow will bring?”

Last year our trip to see family at the beach was canceled last minute due to spiking Covid numbers. This year we’re trying again, and I’m letting myself feel excited. But no more partying in the end zone. I’m thankful to feel excited and I’ll be thankful for the beach when my toes are in the sand and not a minute sooner. I’m thankful for packing and for meal planning because I’m dorky like that and love vacation meal prep. I’m thankful for family worth seeing, for family stable and kind enough to want to travel to see them. I don’t take that for granted.

This blessing from Kate Bowler stopped my scroll on Instagram the other day:

“But blessed are we, who discover that even in the smallness, our attention might compress even more. We who pull out a magnifying glass to discover... to notice... to taste... to smell… the small joys and simple pleasures that make a life worth living.”

Happy Tiny Thanksgiving. May our attention compress. May we find thanks somewhere nestled between the potatoes and gravy or between a baby’s tiny toes, or in a glance across a kitchen or quiet moment in the depths of our own hearts. May we burst with micro-thanks and yams.

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Melanie Dale is the author of four books, Women Are Scary, It’s Not Fair, Infreakinfertility, and Calm the H*ck Down. She’s a writer for the TV series Creepshow, a monthly contributor for Coffee + Crumbs, and her essays are published in The Magic of Motherhood. She has appeared on Good Morning America and has been featured in articles in Cosmopolitan, Real Simple, The Bump, Working Mother, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and the Los Angeles Times. To get out of the office, she spent the last few years shambling about as various zombies on The Walking Dead. She and her husband live in the Atlanta area with three kids from three different continents and an anxious Maltipoo named Khaleesi.

This essay was first published on Coffee + Crumbs. p.s. Our gift guides are live!

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