I'm amazed and frequently dismayed at how often I feel sorry for myself. I talk alot about gratitude. I talk about it because I have discovered it is the one tried and true remedy for pulling myself away from my own pity party.
If you knew me well, and we were to have a face-to-face conversation and you were, lets say, whining about this or that, I'd start forcing you to list all the ways in which you are blessed. Soon you would either cheerfully (or not) join in on the game or get up and walk away...anything to shut me up.
However, sometimes I need a real in-my-own-face kind of wake-up call.
Last year at about this time, I was hobbling around on crutches and a cast having fallen down and broken my ankle. I went back to work relatively quickly as I had very little "sick time" accrued. One day a guy came to my desk and as we were chatting I (apparently trying to garner some sympathy) hiked my leg, cast and all, up on my desk to show him how pitiful I was. With my dirty toes protruding from my colorful cast I smiled at the nice young man.
He smiled back at me, and then, smoothly with ease and grace, lifted his leg up and placed it on the desk next to mine...it was a prosthesis.
Talk about a humbling moment!
With obvious embarrassment, I slumped back down into my chair, dragging my broken bone with me. But, at least, I HAD a bone, and skin to stuff it into. He, with amazing compassion and tact, removed his "leg" and we proceeded with business as usual.
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