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Hi there,
Years ago, when my niece was barely a teenager, she created a new Thanksgiving ritual for us.
She placed a brown paper lunch bag at each seat at the dining room table, like a placecard. And before dinner, we were all instructed to drop a note in each person’s bag explaining why we’re grateful for them. Everyone got to read their notes—privately or out loud—at dessert. Most of us cried. For a family more likely to trade barbs across the table than praise, the impact that year was extraordinary. We were all lighter. Kinder. More open for the rest of our time together.
We vowed to make it an annual practice. But we didn’t.
This year, my niece popped in the group chat to share that she wanted to bring her ritual back. And I noticed my reaction was… off. I replied with the verbal equivalent of a big ol’ shrug. I caught myself thinking: “sure, if we have to.” As someone who was once described as “more optimistic and hopeful than anyone ought to be,” my default settings all felt scrambled and wrong.
The truth is: I’m struggling a bit right now to tap into my gratitude. Since election night, my body’s been tensed up into a tightly wound spring. My brain feels stormy. My eyebrows feel permanently furrowed, and when I get too lost in thought I have to remind myself to breathe.
I’ve been wallowing in very unfamiliar waters: ingratitude.
It’s been building for a while, and it’s bigger than presidential politics. It’s the state of things more generally.
I’m not grateful that so many people I know have been laid off this year, or found themselves under so much pressure that they had to leave their jobs with nothing lined up.
I’m not grateful to see members of my community wading through ghost job listings, or losing sleep trying to finish outrageous interview assignments to get back to work.
I’m not grateful that so many old colleagues are dealing with absent managers and undermining peers.
I’m not grateful for all these endless re-orgs and shifting priorities demoralizing some of the most passionate folks in the field.
I’m not grateful to have spent years helping people transition into this industry—people propelled by intentions to do good in the world without taking a vow of poverty—only to feel more unstable than ever.
Damn. Writing out that list felt really… good. Like a weight off my chest. Like a clearing.
And in that empty space, I’m arriving at a new thought: I wouldn’t have all this ingratitude banging around in my brain if I didn’t have such high hopes for us—all of us. And that means you.
All of you I see looking out for each other in these weird, frustrating times—from sharing job posts to help strangers find new roles to offering up your free time to review portfolios and resumes.
All of you I see sharing your stories and vulnerabilities at meetups and on podcasts and conference stages—reminding each other that none of us is alone.
All of you I see investing in your own power and growth—reconnecting to your values and using them to lead your teams and colleagues across shaky ground.
All of you rejecting cynicism at a time when it’s so easy to make it your default—pushing back, speaking up, suggesting new ways forward.
All of you supporting Active Voice—cheering us on, spreading the word, making our community a refuge from the chaos and noise.
Lately I’m finding everything so offensive because, as it turns out, I am lousy with gratitude for each of you. Writing down these thoughts, I’m reminded that the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows. And right now, I’m telling myself—and you—that it’s okay to let the inspiration and frustration live side-by-side.
If you too are feeling the whiplash of extremes, I have a new ritual to try.
As the year comes to a close, imagine yourself with a brown paper lunch bag of your very own sitting in front of you. Fill it with each scrap of ingratitude, disappointment, and disgust. Wallow in it for a bit if you want. But then sort through the rubble and ask yourself: what’s the belief I hold that’s making these things so intolerable?
Like, “I hate the unfairness of this re-org… because I loved my old team so much. I am grateful that I had years to collaborate with them.”
Or: “I hate the way this field is undervalued… because I know how important the work we do is. I am grateful to feel passionate about my craft.”
Your darker thoughts are illuminating. They tell you what matters—and where to focus your energy when it feels scattered or gone. Follow those threads. And if you need more help figuring out how to reconnect with gratitude, I’ve shared some favorite resources below to help even the most skeptical among us get started.
Start filling that paper bag.
—Jen
Explore a practice in mental subtraction—that’s shown to help us feel gratitude by imagining life without the good things we have now.
The first time someone suggested I start a gratitude practice, I suggested they shut the f*ck up… But, I decided to try her stupid, privileged gratitude practice because I knew it wouldn’t work, and when it didn’t, which it wouldn’t, I could flaunt this fact in front of my well-meaning friend’s face.
Nothing is completely solid. At times, this fact can cause one great anxiety, but it can also push one towards gratitude, towards noticing the gifts of this life, towards honoring one’s moment, and moving, with gratitude, “perpetual thanksgiving,” into the future…
If you’ve got prof dev funds you need to use before the year ends, there are three ways to use it to work with us in the new year:
Strategy sessions: Get clarity on your most pressing challenges in a single deep-dive session meant to give you focus and direction.
1:1 coaching packages: Work with us over the course of 3 months to get clear on your wants and needs and start taking action. You can buy a package now and start in January.
Power Shift: Join the waitlist for our self-leadership program so you get the biggest discount when registration opens next week. We kick off on February 6!
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