For the second time this winter, I have a cold.  Though, sadly, while the first was mild and mercifully brief, this one has me down for the count.  The past two nights, I slept terribly, completely unable to breathe through my stuffed nose.  Today, I’ve moved on to the runny nose stage, flying through tissues at an alarming clip.   But though I seem to have blown out my entire bodyweight in mucous, it appears I’m a surprisingly efficient snot factory; no matter how quickly I clear out my nasal passages, I re-booger just as fast.

Still, in between stretches of complaining and feeling sorry for myself, I’ve been hit by moments of extreme gratitude.  Not for how I feel at the moment, which is miserable indeed, but for how I feel the rest of the time.  The vast majority of the year, I can breathe easily (and through both nostrils!), even if I normally take that delight entirely for granted.

Similarly, until I fractured my wrist at the end of last year, and then limped through months of splinted immobility followed by the ongoing process of wrist rehab, I had sort of overlooked how excellent it is to have two working hands.  (And, in particular, to have my dominant hand working, a distinction whose magnitude I first truly grasped while learning to wipe with the other hand.)

All of which makes me think of the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, and his beautiful writing about ‘non-toothache days.’ As Hanh observes, when you have a toothache, it’s all you can think about; you’d give nearly anything to make that pain stop.  Yet, once it inevitably does, you’re only briefly grateful.  Soon, you’re back to forgetting how wonderful it is just to live in a world of happy teeth.  That said, and despite my daily meditation habit, I’m sure achieving the mindfulness required to constantly appreciate the beauty of non-toothache days (and non-snotty days and two-handed days) is still well beyond me.  Indeed, even by next week, if I’m back to cold-free, I’m sure I’ll again completely overlook the beauty and joy of that simple, healthy baseline.  But, for now, surrounded by my pile of tissues, I’m at least reminding myself to look forward to it.  If I can’t be grateful in that moment, I can at least improve this current moment by trying to be appreciative in advance.