You don’t know what you have until you lose it

An exercise in gratitude.

I can breathe out of both of my nostrils. Big deal, you may say. Well, it is a big deal if you’ve been deprived of that luxury. And I had. So now I breathe in deeply like a sommelier breathes in the bouquet of a fine Argentinian Malbec.  

You don’t know nasal breathing until you lose it.

But that’s true of most things, isn’t it? Sight? Have the electricity go out while you’re watching TV at night and you’ll be groping like Frankenstein. Hearing? Experience the frustration of homing in a hearing aid in the middle of a restaurant. Smell? Get COVID and taste nothing.

That’s how gratitude works.  

For me, one of these biggies was the common cold. I used to get them about once a month and they were anything but common. We’re talking total-blockage congestion, eyes so watery I could barely open them in the light, I would wake up at night with my dry mouth wide open, and the brain fog was so dense it would derail an entire week. I used to dread them coming on and thought maybe they were a curse.

I tried everything to stop them from wreaking such havoc. I had medical tests, throat exams, immunology tests, allergy tests and nothing surfaced. I tried over the counter medicines and then cocktails of drugs recommended on a site dedicated to the common cold.

Then, in my early forties, as mysteriously as they had begun, the colds stopped. The chronic ailment that had overshadowed three decades of my life simply vanished. This unexpected turn left me with a profound sense of relief, but more importantly, it awakened a deep sense of gratitude for something as simple as clear nasal passages.

Now, I thank God often for the simple pleasure of breathing deeply. Sometimes I will close my eyes, lean my head back, breathe in slowly and deeply, feel the cool air wafting through my sinus cavity, imagine it descending down my airpipe, warmed by my nasal passages, into my lungs, and filling me up with warm, moist air.

Okay, okay, maybe that’s excessive imagery. But it’s what I do. And I do it because I remember how much I longed for that experience. It’s forever imprinted on my brain.

For those of you who have never struggled with my ailment, my story probably sounds like Greek to you. You wonder what hallucinogenic I’m on.

But that’s how gratitude works—it becomes hightened in the aftermath of loss. If you’ve never struggled in your marriage, it’s hard to appreciate coming home to a peaceful house. If your kids never prodigalized, it’s hard to appreciate a healthy relationship with them. If you never tweaked your back, it’s hard to appreciate the delicate dance of vertebrae and nerves. If you’ve never slipped into depression, or lived there full-time, you can’t fully appreciate mental wellbeing. I could go on, but you get the point.

So, what are we to do? Can we only appreciate what we’ve lost? No. But I do think that’s a good place to start. We should remind ourselves of the past, remember times of loss, call to mind our prior deficits, and feel gratitude anew.

When you don’t worry about finances anymore, remember when you counted dimes.

When your marriage is good, remember the tense times.

When your mom irritates you, remember when you lost your dad. 

When your grown kids are normal, remember the hormones.

When your nasal passages are clear, remember the congestion.

When your head is clear and your heart is light, remember the creeping demon of depression.

When you feel close to God, remember the days you wondered if he was there.

Job, after losing nearly every single thing in his life, said of God, “My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you.” His understanding of God went from merely hearing to the depth of seeing. Hearing uses 3% of our brain. Sight uses 30%. His was a 10 X clearer connection with God.

That’s what I want to do with both God and my blessings. I want to move my awareness and gratitude and perception from the small world of hearing—to the big world of seeing.

Join me in this exercise. Remember what has improved for you; recall how your life has changed; think back to what you’ve been blessed with—and see them with new eyes.