Gratitude is one of those things that’s simple…but not easy.

Today is Thanksgiving in America. It’s a day that we’re supposed to center around gratitude. The usual candidates come to mind: family, health, and the food in front of us. And rightly so. These are the cornerstones of a fortunate life, and they deserve recognition and appreciation.

But what about all the other stuff? The obstacles. The frustrations. The wrong turns. The difficult people. The bad days.

Should we be grateful for those too? 

Yes—those especially.

Especially because they are hard to be grateful for. 

Epictetus was born into slavery and he spent the next thirty years in that institution. He wasn’t even given a name–Epictetus just means acquired one. He was tortured. And when he finally found freedom, he was almost immediately exiled by a tyrannical emperor. 

You know in Les Mis where she sings about how the dream she dreamed was so much different than the hell she was living? That was basically Epictetus’ real-life story. Yet what he came away with was not bitterness, but gratitude. The key to life, he said, was not to dream for things to be a certain way, but to dream for them to be the way they were. To be grateful that you had the fate you had. “Convince yourself that everything is the gift of the gods,” was how Marcus Aurelius put it, “that things are good and always will be.”

In the mornings when I sit down to journal, one of the notebooks I write in is a gratitude journal. When I first got it, I would fill the pages with the lineup I mentioned above–my family, my health, my career, the people and things and opportunities in my life that mean a lot to me. But after a time, this came to feel sort of pointless and rather repetitive. I needed a new approach.

What I began to do was try to find ways to express gratitude, not for the things that are easy to be grateful for, but for what is hard. I wanted to practice seeing everything as a gift from the gods, as Marcus Aurelius wrote. Because while it’s easy to count my blessings of the good things in life, it’s much more difficult to see the bad things as gifts, too. But with this practice, I’ve learned to see they can be.

That troublesome client—thank you, it’s helping me develop better boundaries. 

That traffic jam—thank you, it gave me time to call my wife and have a nice, meandering conversation. 

That rejection email—thank you, it forced me to reevaluate and improve my work.

The political realities of our time–thank you, it’s a chance to test myself, to really stick to what I believe in. 

That loss—thank you, for reminding me of what truly matters in life. 

And on and on.

When Epictetus talks about how every situation has two handles, this is what he means. You can decide to grab onto anger or appreciation, fear or fellowship. You can pick up the handle of resentment or of gratitude. You can look at the obstacle or get a little closer and see the opportunity. Which one will you grab?

It’s so easy to miss the fact that Marcus Aurelius could not have been Marcus Aurelius without that unending series of troubles. The difficulties that shaped him, refined him, called greatness out of him. It’s also easy to miss, when we focus on all the bad breaks the guy got, all the tragedies he experienced, that on the whole, Marcus was incredibly lucky. After all, this dude was chosen to be emperor. For next to no reason at all, Hadrian selected a young boy and gifted him unlimited power and wealth and fame. Marcus had a wonderful wife, a stepfather he adored, amazing teachers and he discovered Stoicism, which guided him when he most needed it. For everything that went wrong in his life, for everything that was taken from him, the Gods actually gave him an equal number of gifts. 

As Cicero pointed out, “You may say that deaf men miss the pleasure of hearing a lyre-player’s songs. Yes, but they also miss the squeaking of a saw being sharpened, the noise a pig makes when its throat is being cut, the roaring thunder of the sea which prevents other people from sleeping.”

See, there’s a positive to every negative! 

In the chaos and dysfunction of the world, I try to notice where I have been gifted in the latter category than where I have been deprived in the former.

Besides, it’s already happened…what’s the use in getting upset?

So, as you gather with family and friends this Thanksgiving, appreciate the obvious gifts—the food, the health, the love in the room. But as the moment fades and life returns to its usual pace, challenge yourself to make gratitude a daily practice.

Not just for what is easy and joyful, but for what is hard.

For what tested you, stretched you, humbled you.

Whatever 2024 has been for you—however difficult, however painful—be grateful for it. Think about what it helped you miss. Think about how it shaped you. Think about how it could have been worse. 

Write this gratitude down. Say it out loud.

Thank you.

Until you believe it.

It’s the hardest thing.

Especially right now. 

Not making money in this economy. Not climbing a mountain. Not running a marathon or writing a book or building a business. Not dealing with the high interest rates or the technological disruption. 

No, right now and indeed for all time–the hardest thing in the world is to not be infected by what’s happening around you. To not lose your mind…or your decency…or your sense of what matters. 

Look around. You see it everywhere. People melting down on airplanes and in traffic. Social media turning into a cesspool of rage and conspiracy theories. Families estranged. The news cycle ping-ponging between crisis and catastrophe. Real awful things happening. 

I remember a couple of years ago, I interviewed Mike Duncan about his fascinating book The Storm Before the Storm and he was telling me about some Stoics who lived during the tumultuous years of 146-78 BC, a period that set the stage for the fall of Rome. Their attitude, he said, was this:

The winds may howl, but I will not be swept away. 

That may well be one of the best definitions of Stoicism I have ever heard.

The world seems to be going crazy… and it’s trying to take you with it.

But here’s the thing: You can’t let it.

I’m reminded of Marcus Aurelius, who faced what might have been even darker times than our own: A devastating plague killing millions. A coup attempt by one of his most trusted generals. The empire literally crumbling at its edges. Yet, in his private writings, we see him constantly reminding himself: Don’t let it infect you. Don’t lose your humanity. Don’t go crazy with the craziness.

“No matter what anyone says or does,” he wrote, “my task is to be good. Like gold or emerald or purple repeating to itself, ‘No matter what anyone says or does, my task is to be emerald, my color undiminished.’”

Think of Montaigne, retreating to his study. Think of Stefan Zweig (whose biography of Montaigne I have been giving out since 2016) discovering Montaigne in a cellar as a refugee from Germany in 1941. Think of Cicero and Cato having to get out of Rome for a while. Think of Chrysippus who liked to see that the whole point of being a philosopher was to not join in with the mob and the rabble.

It’s not that they were disengaged—they were very engaged. It’s that they strove, however, not to be consumed by the passions that had wrecked their society. Lincoln had to strike a very similar balance: He knew that slavery was wrong. He knew that a good chunk of people were hell-bent on destroying the country. He also understood that he could not afford anything other than calmness, foresight, clarity. He could not lose his humanity. He could not lose his mind.

Neither can you. 

When you see that inflammatory post on social media? When someone cuts you off in traffic? When the news makes your blood boil?

Don’t let the crazies make you crazy. 

Again, this isn’t to say you’re indifferent to injustice–it’s that you can’t let it break you, you can’t let it make you despair, you can’t let it distract you from your own work for justice. 

Stay good. Stay focused. Keep your eyes on the prize. 

When tensions are high, when political dysfunction spills out into the street, when anger and frustration abound…When misinformation and extremism and utter nonsense pervade…When cruelty and meanness become acceptable…

…treat it not as disaster, but as opportunity. 

This is what Marcus was talking about in the line that inspired The Obstacle Is the Way: “The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.” Since the book came out a little over ten years ago (check out the new 10th anniversary edition), that line has inspired millions to do remarkable things—entrepreneurs pivoting during downturns to build thriving businesses, athletes turning injuries into remarkable comebacks, artists transforming hardship into their finest work, and so on.

But do you know what Marcus was really talking about when he wrote those words? It wasn’t success. He was talking about dealing with the world, seeing it as an opportunity for virtue–even the frustrating, disappointing, even disgusting things that happen. 

“In a sense,” goes the full passage, “people are our proper occupation. Our job is to do them good and put up with them…Our actions may be impeded by them, but there can be no impeding our intentions or our dispositions. Because we can accommodate and adapt. The mind adapts and converts to its own purposes the obstacle to our acting. The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.”

The conspiracy theorist in your Facebook feed. The politically radicalized family member. The angry stranger looking for an argument. Crazy people and crazy situations are opportunities to practice virtue. To show courage by standing firm in your principles. To demonstrate justice by treating them fairly despite their unfairness to you. To exercise temperance by controlling your emotions when they’re trying to provoke you.

To insist on what’s right. To fight for change where you can. To put your efforts where they make a positive difference. 

Is this easy? Of course not. That’s why I said it might be the hardest thing you’ll ever do.

We don’t control what other people do. We don’t control the news cycle or the political climate or the general level of sanity in the world.

What we control is ourselves. We control whether we let bad times turn us into bad people. We control whether we maintain our humanity when others are losing theirs. We control whether we carry the fire—as Cormac McCarthy would put it—or join in the darkness.

The winds may howl, but we must not be swept away.

The world may go mad, but we must remain sane.

This is our job. This is our proper occupation. This is the most important thing for these crazy times.