You see, there is a strange phenomenon in the way we relate to the world, a kind of “habitual blindness” that settles in with time. It’s as if we are all walking through a garden, marveling at the beauty of the flowers, the vibrancy of the colors, the fragrance of the air — and yet, after a while, we no longer notice it. The petals lose their charm. The scent fades into the background. We simply become accustomed to the beauty, and before long, we expect it, as though it’s something owed to us.
Take, for instance, the beautiful place you find yourself living in. When you first arrive, every corner, every street, every sunset seems magical, like a gift from the heavens. But before long, the mountains lose their majesty, the river ceases to flow with wonder, and you pass by the very things that once filled you with awe, without even noticing. Familiarity breeds expectation, and expectation, my friends, breeds ingratitude.
I had a small lesson in this recently. Outside the place where I would go for a smoothie every day, there was a man down on his luck, who would ask me for money. Now, my ego would step in and create a story about how he would waste the money, how it wouldn’t be of any real benefit. So I’d always say, “I cannot give you any money.” But then, something changed. One day, I decided to do something different. Instead of giving him money, I bought him a smoothie, as I did for myself every day. The first time I handed it to him, his “thank you” was genuine, heartfelt, the kind of gratitude that touches the soul. But after a few days, after I repeated the gesture Monday through Thursday, his thank you faded into silence. By the fourth day, he just took the smoothie without a word.
And then, on Friday, something else happened. When I went in to order my usual smoothie, the cashier made a little extra — about half of one — and poured it into a separate cup. I thought, “Ah, I’ll save myself ten dollars and give the man the extra half.” But when I handed it to him, his reaction was not gratitude. No, he yelled at me. He accosted me. “Where’s my full smoothie? You owe me!”
And in that moment, I realized something profound. How quickly we take the gifts of the universe for granted. How quickly we forget the source of these gifts, and how easily we begin to feel entitled to them. The beauty, the kindness, the small acts of generosity — they all start to feel like something we deserve, something that is ours by right. And when it doesn’t come in the form we expect, we react with anger, frustration, or resentment.
It’s a strange paradox. The universe offers us gifts — the breath we take, the earth beneath our feet, the people around us, the simple pleasure of a smoothie on a hot day — and we accept them without thinking. But the moment we begin to take them for granted, the moment we expect them to be there, we stop seeing them. And when they are withheld, even just a little, the reaction is often disproportionate to the offense. We forget how much the Earth gives.
Now, this isn’t just about smoothies. No, this is a metaphor for something much larger. There are things in your life — people, experiences, moments — that you no longer truly see, no longer appreciate. Perhaps you’ve become used to the love of a partner, the kindness of a friend, the warmth of the sun on your face. You take these gifts every day, but you no longer say thank you. You expect them, and when they aren’t delivered in the exact way you’ve come to expect, you react in frustration, as though the world owes you something.
So, I invite you to spend today looking around. Look closely at the world, at the people, at the gifts, both large and small, that you’ve stopped noticing. Look at the flowers, the smiles, the breath in your lungs — and recognize them as the gifts they are. For it is only in seeing these gifts that we begin to realize how full, how rich, how blessed we truly are.
And in that recognition, the anger, the frustration, and the sense of entitlement fade away. Instead, you are filled with gratitude, and that gratitude becomes the lens through which you see the world anew. The gifts are all around you, waiting to be noticed — if only you take the time to look.
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