Prompt 218. A Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude

& a prompt inspired by the poet Ross Gay

Hi friend,

A confession: I love holidays as much as the next person, but this time of year, I also find myself chafing against what can feel like knee-jerk performances of gratitude. I’ve written before about my resistance to toxic positivity, to the pressure of seeking silver linings, even to the ubiquity of gratitude lists. I don’t want to sound like a grinch, but as a sick person, you can begin to feel a deep spiritual weariness from having to seem grateful, from feeling pressure to put a positive spin on every single moment, all the damn time.

But in the last year, I’ve noticed a shift in my thoughts on gratitude—away from seeing it as a truism, rote and saccharine, toward seeing it as a means of survival. Because things are so hard, I have to move through my days and weeks not just noting the things that inspire gratitude, but seeking them out. If I’m going to put myself through these treatments, and navigate these disabilities, there have to be moments, be they epic or tender or quietly beautiful, that remind me it’s worth it. That despite the challenges, I have so much to be grateful for—

Like the impromptu New Orleans-inspired gathering we had for Jon’s birthday last weekend, such a hodgepodge and an utter delight. I’m grateful for my friends: Kristen, who took charge of decorations, singlehandedly breathing life into multiple balloon arches, inflating each one on lung-power alone; and Cat and Jonny, who drove in from rural New Jersey with two vats of red beans, taking the speed bumps real slow lest they slosh all over the backseat; and their daughter Callie, who volunteered to give covid rapid tests to our guests upon arrival, so I could enjoy a rare evening mask-free. Oh, the pure joy of seeing friends’ faces for an entire night!

I’m grateful for the tower of donuts that stood in as birthday cake, and for the musicians who came with their horns and basses and tambourines, who made the walls vibrate with jazz, and the tap dancer who made the floors rattle, and the howling and singing, and the joy spilling out onto the back terrace, which was overflowing with people and boisterous laughter.

I’m grateful for not getting sick, and for the grace of our guests when I had to retreat to bed at ten p.m. Nights like these are not always easy for me. I have anxiety about nausea (i.e., publicly disgorging the contents of my stomach), about having to dip out, about being depleted in the days that follow. But this epic evening with friends—that’s what makes me believe it’s worth it. And the tender, quietly beautiful moments are important too—moments like at the end of the night, after I’d made my French exit and Jon came bearing water, then carrying River, because he knew I needed her to sleep. That’s what makes it all worth it.

If illness has taught me anything, it’s that living means “loving/ what every second goes away.”

That’s a line from a poem by Ross Gay, called “Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude”—a forever favorite that I’m sharing with you today. In the poem, the narrator is visited in a dream by a robin, who instructs him “to bellow forth the tubas and sousaphones,/ the whole rusty brass band of gratitude.” It’s a glad-racketing glory, a full-throated celebratory song that, trilling and thrilling, goes on and on. “Here’s a light blanket,” the narrator says, “a pillow, dear one,/ for I can feel this is going to be long./ I can’t stop my gratitude, which includes, dear reader,/ you, for staying here with me.”

I feel that way about you, dear friend, for sticking with me through this longer than usual missive, and for being part of this beloved community, which has rallied for me in the last year in astonishing ways. I’m still working my way through the letters so many of you sent when you learned the news of my relapse—returning to them and savoring them whenever I need encouragement. Much like the people who wrote to me a decade ago, whom I later visited on my road trip, you have been a lifeline. I can’t say it enough: I’m grateful for you. And I hope that Ross Gay’s words, which you can hear him read below, and the prompt inspired by them, helps you to love what every second goes away.

Suleika

Some Items of Note—

• Today is our next meeting of the Hatch, our virtual creative hour for paid subscribers, from 1-2 pm ET. Carmen and Holly will be hosting, sharing a passage from literature and some thoughts on it, along with a creative prompt. Click here to join!

• We’ll be sending out our next installment of Dear Susu very soon! If you have questions for me, I’d love to see them, especially about love and relationships—subjects that have been on my mind of late. Send your question and any necessary context to suleika@theisolationjournals.com with the subject line “Dear Susu.”

• In the Isolation Journals Chat, our new community space, you can join us in our weekly ritual: a resounding chorus of collective gratitude. The Chat feature is in beta testing for iOS-operated mobile devices, though we’re told it will be available for Android very soon. Tap the button below to join us!

Prompt 218. Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude by Ross Gay

You can listen to Ross Gay read “Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude,” accompanied by the musician Bon Iver, in this video. If you prefer to simply read it, you can access it here on the Poetry Foundation’s website.

Your prompt for the week:

Read or listen to “Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude” by Ross Gay. Then write about the experience—about the images, thoughts, and feelings that linger, about how it changed, maybe deepened, your idea of gratitude.

Then, if you feel so inspired, make your own catalog of unabashed gratitude.

If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

Ross Gay is the author of four books of poetry: Against Which; Bringing the Shovel Down; Be Holding, winner of the PEN American Literary Jean Stein Award; and Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude, winner of the 2015 National Book Critics Circle Award and the 2016 Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award. His first collection of essays, The Book of Delights, was released in 2019 and was a New York Times bestseller. His new collection of essays, Inciting Joy, was published by Algonquin in October of 2022. Image by Natasha Komoda.

For more paid subscriber benefits, see—

• Haunted by Heartbreak, an installment of Dear Susu where I answer the question, “How do I move on from lost love?” (Spoiler alert: It involves gratitude!)

• On Conflict and Peace, an interview with the brilliant Priya Parker, author of The Art of Gathering, where we talk about belonging and the difference between healthy conflict and unhealthy peace

• Bindweed and Hawk Moths, a meditation by the Isolation Journal’s own Carmen Radley—inspired by Ross Gay—on how creative projects grow and change