Since the moment I left in May, I anxiously waited to be back on campus. Not because I don’t love being home — I do. I have cultivated a life here, and compared to the solitude and silence of sitting in my house with my siblings gone, a jam-packed schedule full of work and social gatherings sounded like heaven. Now that I’m back at school, though, I wish I was back at home. Unsurprising. That’s how it always goes, but honestly, I think for everyone, it’s been a particularly hard few weeks. While I’ve been back, I’ve had to face a multitude of unexpected personal issues, on top of the already constant torrent of work and commitments. With everything I’ve had to do, I’ve had trouble keeping up, and I feel the need to keep track of it all. I add everything up in my head. I have a to-do list in Notion that’s split into sections like “school,” “personal” and “Trinitonian.” Every facet of my life and everything I need to do is laid out in one document. Everything is listed out, and everything piles up.

I know I’m not the only one, either. I have no idea what’s happening in everyone’s personal lives, but from what’s happening on campus — from the construction blocking people’s access to parking spots and elevators to Norovirus that’s started making its rounds in Mabee Dining Hall, it seems like the beginning of the year has been rough. I realize it’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else — I know it has been for me. Although, as I was scrolling through Instagram this morning, getting sucked into the algorithm designed to hook me to my phone for as long as possible, I saw a post about Mary Oliver: Today — the day I’m writing this — is her birthday. I used to live on Mary Oliver’s work. She was a source of comfort for a long time, and seeing the post snapped something in me. There was no revelation, but it was a gentle reminder. It reminded me of my mother, in all her art therapist glory, gifting me a journal and a copy of “Devotions”; of Chaplain Alex’s letter to new students in this year’s Declassified. It reminded me of a central theme in Mary Oliver’s poetry: gratitude. I have spent so much time these past few weeks ruminating on the negative, that I’ve completely forgotten about all of the good in my life. Gratitude is such a necessity, but I think it’s something we all so easily forget about. Even as I scrolled through the past editorials, searching for inspiration for this one, I was surprised to find that not one had discussed gratitude.

I’ve dabbled in gratitude in the past; I’ve used journals, my notes app, writing prompts. For the longest time, I felt like I wasn’t doing it “correctly.” I had an image of people who “practiced gratitude,” and they were people who were always smiling and never lost their temper — people who had a carefully picked outfit and smooth, shiny hair and a small Moleskine journal in their hand. I’ve realized, though, that I don’t have to be a person who practices gratitude to actually practice gratitude. To get it through my head, I’ve reworked my view: I only had to practice practicing gratitude. It’s redundant and doesn’t actually change the meaning, but it’s what made me pick up my gratitude journal again. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I will inevitably forget to practice it on some days, but once I’m reminded of it, I have to return to it. Mary Oliver’s birthday was my reminder; this is yours.

I’m not asking that you lose all focus on the issues in your life and in your community. Your problems still need your attention. Making sure that students with disabilities still have access to classes and that we aren’t getting continually sick from dining hall food is important. You should still fight the good fight — it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. But for the sake of your sanity — for the sake of Mary Oliver’s birthday, practice practicing gratitude. Do it the classic way and keep a gratitude journal; take a pause and make a mental list of the things your friends did this week that made you laugh; write on a sticky note when you notice the people chattering in line for coffee, or when you added the perfect amount of milk to your cereal or when leaves start gathering at the trunks of the trees. Just make space for it — allow yourself to get away from exams, and the Mabee Dining Hall virus and the looming election. Just a couple of minutes. I’m not telling you to start and never stop (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stopped), but just try it. It’s what Mary Oliver would’ve wanted.