The Only Path I Know To True Joy

Honesty is a virtue.

Patience is a virtue.

So is wisdom. Courage. Temperance. Justice. Plato called them the four cardinal virtues for ethical living

For sure, they're needed. The more humanity embodies them, the further we progress as a species.

But what about gratitude?

It's more complex than you think, and one of those that spell ironic, like Black Friday and Thanksgiving. Ironic because, as we spend hours waiting in line, shoving strangers, and spending money on things we don’t need, just a day earlier we were seated around the dinner table, expressing heartfelt appreciation for all the good in our lives: the health, the career, the family.

Which is precisely the problem.

Gratitude is simple in theory…but difficult in practice.

It’s so easy to be grateful when things are going well. 

But what about the bad moments? Like the sleepless nights with a crying baby. The client who refuses to honour the contract. The feedback session with a negative review of your performance. The unexpected market downturn where more money was lost than earned?

Yes—those too.

Especially those.

That was what James the Just, the New Testament author of James and notably the brother of Jesus, wrote in his letter to the twelve Jewish-Christian tribes scattered outside Jerusalem. Rifed with persecution, famine, economic and social marginalisation, and a slew of hardships, he opens with a courageous call to persevere in the face of unending struggles: “Brothers and sisters,” he wrote, “when troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow.”

James wasn't telling his people to bite the bullet. He wasn't asking them to passively accept the terrible fate upon them. He was, in fact, mapping out the path to true joy in the midst of hardship, in poverty, in a world that is awful, unfair, and cruel. And it begins the moment we exhibit gratefulness for the good and the bad, because, as he would go on to say, when your endurance is fully developed, you will be whole and mature, lacking nothing. That is the bedrock of happiness.

And as painful as the suffering gets, something good, something hopeful, something life-changing might be on the other side of the struggle.

But of course, that can only happen if we choose to see it that way.

Which is difficult... and not our fault if we don't.

I remember the times I got injured playing competitive rugby and was forced to sit on the sidelines. I would chide myself over how things had turned out. But it wasn’t just the injury that upset me—it was the realisation that I had taken for granted all the times I wasn’t injured. Of course, I couldn’t have foreseen the injury, but I could have done more to reduce the risk of it happening. That I should have worked harder during the good days. That I should have spent more time improving my weak areas. That I should have, from the very beginning, been thankful for the times when I could play the sport unrestricted and pain-free.

Obviously, my example pales in comparison to far greater problems in the world. Yet the cruel mechanism of regret spares no one: we often only realise the true value of something after we lose it.

Things happen. Bad luck falls upon us. The world is twisted, unjust, and cruel in every way. It's tough, often delusional, to put up a front when things aren't going according to plan. Just let it all out, they'd say, cry your hearts out.

Yet, while we can accept that as fact, we certainly need not imprison our emotions with every anguish that stumbles across our path.

So how do we instil something so complex and ironic in our children?

Simple.

Start with us.

Not just in our words but in our actions, too. Don't just say, "Be grateful." Be grateful.

It's easy to overlook that Winston Churchill could never have become the iconic figure he is remembered as if not for the series of setbacks he endured in the years preceding his finest hour. Not once, not twice, but thrice, Churchill was ousted from the House of Commons. He lost a great deal of his wealth in the Wall Street Crash. The Dardanelles campaign—envisioned as Britain’s plan to force Germany’s ally, Turkey, out of World War I—resulted in enormous casualties among Australians, New Zealanders, and his own naval division, for which he was made the scapegoat. Later, the fall of Singapore—which Churchill himself admitted to be the prime author of—was a grave misjudgement of the rising power of imperial Japan, and the consequent loss of Britain’s status as a military superpower weighed on him heavily to the bone.

And what seemed to be a casual afternoon in December 1931 turned into an excruciating ordeal when he was knocked down by a car, sustaining injuries to his head, thigh, and ribs, leaving him confined to the infirmary in terrible pain during an already terrible time.

“I have now in the last two years had three very heavy blows,” Churchill lamented to his wife, Clemmie, fearing he would never recover not just from his injuries but from the political and financial ruin he found himself in.

Yet, in these bleak moments, Churchill began to spot the silver lining: He was grateful to be loved by many faithful and loyal friends. Grateful to have the adoring and caring Clemmie who proved to be of great aid throughout his tumultuous career. Grateful to be surrounded by his daughters and a cheerful family of children that added joy to his mundane and stressful life. Grateful to have Chartwell—his home—where all attempts of escape would cease so that he could rest and recover and move on to the next mission. Grateful to have, amidst his busy schedule, the space and time to paint (he painted up to 500 works in his lifetime), of which one was the picturesque Mamounia Hotel in Marrakech.

Grateful, despite suffering three strokes, bouts of pneumonia and a string of ailments, to be alive and well.

Above all, he was fortunate that all the events gave him a clear vision of what was happening in the world, and what would happen unless he prevented it by his gifts and energies that were born in the white-hot furnace of hardship. “I felt as if I were walking with destiny,” Churchill later recorded, “and that all my past life had been but a preparation for this hour and for this trial.”

Through sufferance, a bold and courageous spirit emerged, sounding the trumpet's call to live even more dangerously than before. “There is neither the time nor the strength for self-pity,” he later wrote in an article that went global. “There is no room for remorse or fears… Nature is merciful and does not try her children, man or beast, beyond their compass. It is only when the cruelty of man intervenes that hellish torments appear. For the rest, live dangerously, take things as they come. Fear naught, all will be well.”

Theodore Roosevelt observed: “If there is not the war, you don’t get the great general; if there is not the great occasion, you don’t get the great statesman; if Lincoln had lived in times of peace, no one would know his name now.”

If you're aiming for success then it comes at a high price. Any bargain, to say the least, is to cheat yourself of the future.

Besides, you can’t change what had happened. 

The past is crystal clear—it’s over, all has been finalised, nothing can be undone. Shouganai, the Japanese would say. It is what it is. So why brood over what has happened, what came to as a result, what we have zero control of?

Nazi death camp survivor Viktor Frankl says that what determines a prisoner’s longevity is in the way he imagines his future—though his life is likely to end, he musters all his energy into the hope that one day, if fate allows, he will be liberated and reunited with his family. A higher chance of survival often belongs to the prisoner who accepts that when he is unable to change the situation, he is challenged to change himself, his attitude, his response towards what had happened.

Fixating on what is beyond our control carries an invisible cost, a mortgage most of us think we can afford but in reality can't. I'm not talking about finances. I'm talking about your emotions, your time and energy, the precious resources that would have been better expended doing things that actually matter, that actually generate results.

Sure, complaint. Frown. Lash it out when things don't go your way.

But why not channel your energies into what you can control. 

Why not be thankful?

That sleepless nights with the baby crying—thank you, it has taught me the true meaning of sacrifice and how to love those I love.

The unreasonable client who refused to honour the contract—thank you, it has taught me to set legal barriers to protect my business from unforeseen circumstances and bad acting.

The feedback session with a negative review of your performance—it hurts but thank you, this lesson on humility has shed light on areas I need improvement on.

The unexpected market downturn where more money was lost than earned—thank you, I now know what truly matters.
​
"A writer—and I believe, generally all persons," author Jorge Luis Borges once wrote, "must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been give to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art."

Gratitude is not always inborn, but can be cultivated. It takes practice, the slow and deliberate kind, which you have to work on all your life.

It's counter-intuitive, it's difficult, it's painful...but worth it. 

You strive for it not just for yourself, but for your family, for the little ones looking to you. The best gift you can give your children this Christmas is not more presents, but the practice of thankfulness.

Do not waste precious energy on trivialities, harboring grudges, or shifting blame to life's unfairness. They only breed ingratitude. Remember—it's in the absence of ingratitude that space is freed up for joy. This is what we truly seek.

Honesty is worthy to behold. Patience, they say, is a virtue. And rightly it is. But gratitude is the embodiment of contentment and balance we need to protect in this day and age, where gunning for excess has become the commonplace culture instead of treasuring the good already in our hands. 

"We should all talk like they do in acceptance speeches," Brad Montague once said, "full of gratitude and realising we don't have much time."

It's true. 

We don't have much time. 

So while the best time to be thankful was years ago, the second best time would be now.

Written by Mathieu Beth Tan