Little Gifts

I wrote this poem almost exactly two years ago, on 2/19/21, and it has been sitting in the "drafts" section of my blog ever since then. I guess something about it just didn't feel "ready" or "right". But today it feels ready.

Little gifts are always there
when you're feeling blue or grim
or disconnected from the world
take a look around and see
what might be waiting there for you
a rock, a stick, a leaf, a shell
a bottle cap, a raindrop in your hair
a bird's friendly stare
the best ones fit inside your pocket
reach down to pick it up
hold it in your hand
let the little surge of gratitude
flood your body
rest assured the little gift
that's right in front of you
has been there waiting, hoping, yearning
for someone just like you

Those pictures were also from February 19, 2021. I think I can remember that day, or at least can remember what it felt like to find that dried up flower amidst the snow. And to watch Gracie pick up a stick and carry it joyfully, pridefully, all the way home.

Lately I've been leaning on "little gifts" quite often. Maybe it is the time of year. When the cold and ice and mud and gray skies start to feel less cozy and more dreary. Or maybe I am navigating similarly rocky terrain this February, two years later, and am needing to lean on little gifts for resilience and support. Either way, the theme has made a resurgence in my life.

I often find my little gifts in nature. Today it was a spider web frozen with tiny orbs of ice from the storm that had passed through. And a beautiful mushroom that reminded me of a wildflower stretching its petals to the sun. Yesterday it was catching the glimmer of crystals clinging to blades of grass, knowing that I only had a short time to admire them before the sun brought warmth and melting.

Maybe gifts like these have a few certain qualities that make them special. They are often a surprise. Something we didn't expect to find. They are often beautiful, or have some quality that captivates our senses. They are often ephemeral. We know that they won't last forever, so we feel inclined to enjoy them while we can. They bring us to the present moment.

And I think the experience of stumbling across a little gift often happens in that linear order. We notice it (surprise), we find it captivating (beauty), and so we snap to the present moment to enjoy it while we can (presence). The surprise-beauty-presence cycle.

I think these same qualities can apply to little gifts of other varieties too, not just ice and webs and mushrooms. Like a friend reaching out to say they've been thinking of you. Or catching the eye of someone at the grocery store and sharing a genuine smile. Or really anything you can imagine in your own life that brings surprise, beauty, and presence. The possibilities are endless. Start taking note.

This practice of noticing little gifts can offer so much grounded-ness and joy to my life. Can remind me of the beauty that is all around me, even when other things feel bleak. Some may simply call this a gratitude practice, which I certainly think it is, in many ways. But to me, it has a certain aspect of surrender to it that other gratitude practices don't always have.

It requires opening up to surprise, opening up to discovering beauty where you may not expect it, and opening up to feeling gratitude and presence when you might be sucked into a whole slew of other emotions, thoughts, or concerns. It asks for a choice, an effort, a surrendering, an opening, a releasing of control. It is not passive, nor simply appreciating what you already have. It is a choice-filled, active surrendering to letting yourself be touched by the world around you. It asks you to be soft.

I like that the poem implies that the gift has consciousness of its own. That it has been waiting for someone to come along and appreciate it. Of course I can't prove that's true. No one can. But there's something comforting about considering that the relationship between the gift and the receiver could be reciprocal. That there's joy felt by both parties. That we are gifting something in return by offering our attention, our admiration, our gratitude. I think at the very least, we're weaving a little bit more love into the world each time we pause to notice something that feels like a gift. And those little bits of love, compounded over and over again, can be powerful.

What little gifts have been crossing your path lately?