Unexpressed Gratitude is Selfish

I catch myself in moments of gratitude. Usually I am alone, and a thought hits me,
“Boy, I am so grateful for…”

Usually it is about my wife, but often it is also about my kids. They are all so great, and it feels good to be reminded of that. I then begin to wish I wasn’t alone in that moment so I could share that with them.

“When I see them next time, I will tell them how I feel about them.”

Then I walk in the door to my home and normal life kicks in with the importance of getting people fed, bathed, read to and in bed at an appropriate time.

My grateful thoughts have disappeared and the desire to share them with my family is also gone.

I guess this is how we end up not expressing ourselves to those closest to us.

I know, I’m a cliché.

I think about it often, it’s my version of ‘if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it…’. If gratitude is unexpressed, is it really gratitude?

I’m not sure if it is. I think that if I feel grateful to someone for who they are, especially someone close to me, and I don’t express it, that is selfish on my part. Everyone deserves to have gratitude expressed to them, about them. Keeping that from people is unfair.

Every night at our dinner table, we share 3 things that we are grateful for in that day. It has become a list of things, which is great. Perhaps I can add “1 person that I am grateful to”, as a means to express my gratitude to those around me, and become a little less selfish.

What’s Missing?

“What’s missing?” The question creates a certain panic in me, even now.

You probably remember the classic game where you are presented with a tray of items covered with a small towel, you are shown the items for a few seconds which is your time to try to remember as many items as you can – stapler, rubber band, paperclip, toy car, watch, pencil sharpener. Then the towel is replaced and you need to write down as many items as you can remember.

Where it became ‘next level’ intense was when some items were removed, you are shown what is left, and you need to recall what is no longer there. This seemed to come really easily to some people, but I always struggled to see what wasn’t there.

Perhaps it is because I have a below average short-term memory, although I like to think that it is because I am content with what I have that I don’t feel the need to look for what’s missing (it’s probably the first one though). Maybe that’s the real difference between the two versions of the game — one trains you to notice what’s gone, the other to notice what’s still there.

Lao Tzu said:

“Be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.”

Focusing on what is already there in life can be difficult. We get used to things, to waking up in the same bed, seeing the same people, eating the same food, and we can easily forget that we have a bed, people in our life who love us and food to eat. Rather than being ordinary things, they are in fact, extraordinary. Things we can rejoice in and be grateful for.

Perhaps that’s what Lao Tzu means when he said that when we realise there is nothing lacking that ‘the whole world belongs to you’. Out of a realisation that we have enough, anything becomes possible, we have the whole world at our feet, and we can afford to be generous with what we already have.

“What could I possibly do to change that?”

I have heard that question many times over the years as people look down the barrel of global or national events that have dramatically influenced our lives.

“Honestly, nothing.” I respond.

Then we sit in the despair that follows.

But I can’t stay there, because despair keeps you paralysed and I am a big believer in doing little things each day that build up over time. It’s those small acts which, done diligently and away from the limelight, end up making a big difference. They won’t end a war today. They won’t fix the environment today. They won’t even ensure that my kids will eat all their dinner tonight. But maybe tomorrow something might shift a little. Then a little more the next day. And the day after that.

Nic Cave said, “Even our smallest actions have potential for great change, positively or negatively…You are anything but impotent, you are, in fact, exquisitely and frighteningly dynamic…and…you have an obligation to stand up and take responsibility for that potential. It is your most ordinary and urgent duty.”

We don’t need to sit in despair at the enormity of the challenges that lay ahead. We have an obligation and a responsibility to act, to do what we can with what is in our control. There is purpose in that. It is also, innately generous.

The Invisible Things

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” Antoine de Saint-Exupéry – The Little Prince

If the essential things are invisible, does that mean that the things that are visible are unimportant? Or less important? That’s a tough sell today.

If true, it puts a great deal of life into a clearer perspective. Much of how we live our lives and express ourselves, by this measure, would be deemed unimportant.

The key question is what, then, is important?

I keep coming back to people. Not those who see us but those we truly see. The ones we interact with on a daily basis, that we care about, that we feed in to, that we love and nurture and journey with.

Then it is the people that we have loose connections with, how we treat those who make our coffee, or serve us lunch, or those trying to park in the parking space next to us.

Then it is the wider world around us. The people we will never meet who are impacted by how we live, the animals that call this planet their home too, and the planet that sustains our life, both of which we are inter-connected to.

These are the important things, the invisible things, the generous things. How we relate to them and our attitude towards them cannot be seen because it comes from within each of us.

The rest of life, the external stuff that people do see, is unimportant in comparison.

The Fruit of Being Generous

There are so many benefits to being generous.

Not just for the people receiving it, but for the person giving it too. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to experience good things as a result of choosing to be generous.

The catch is that generosity can’t be driven only by what you get back. The moment it becomes transactional, it stops being generosity and starts becoming something different, more of a calculation.

But when generosity is genuine, it begins to bear fruit.

Not always immediately. Not always in obvious ways. But over time, it becomes noticeable.

It shows up in your attitude. A lighter way of seeing people. Less cynicism. More patience than you used to have.

It shows up in your lifestyle. Less focused on holding tightly, more open-handed in how you live and relate to what you have.

And it shows up in your finances too. Not necessarily more or less money, but a different relationship with it. Less fear. Less grip. More clarity about what it’s for.

The strange thing about generosity is that it grows both outward and inward at the same time.

You give something away.

And somehow, you grow fruit for yourself.

I Thought I Was Wrong Once…

You’ve probably met someone who says: “I thought I was wrong once… but I was mistaken.”

Usually followed by laughter. It’s a little bit funny but occasionally you meet people who aren’t entirely joking when they say it.

They genuinely struggle to imagine that they could be wrong about something. It can happen to all of us at one time or another.

We like being right. We like winning arguments. We like certainty.
We like the feeling of standing on solid ground while someone else changes their mind.

But the reality is that we are all wrong about something. Failing to admit that or even to entertain the idea that it is possible is more about self-preservation than finding the truth.

Conflict happens all the time, and that’s not a bad thing, if it is done well. Generosity matters a great deal in our daily conflict.

Because generous conflict leaves room for the possibility that we may have missed something. Or misunderstood something. Or simply got it wrong.

Ungenerous conflict needs victory.

Generous conflict values the relationship more than the scoreboard.

That doesn’t mean pretending truth does not matter. It just means humility matters too.

Being able to say:
“You were right.”
Or even:
“You might be right.”
…is a deeply generous thing.

And if you happen to be right this time, rubbing it in rarely helps anyone.

Grace is important on both sides of the argument.

The Better Offer

“Thanks, but I got a better offer.”

I’m not sure I’ve heard too many people say that out loud, but certainly that is what they have meant when they let me know that they were unable to attend an event or gathering. Sometimes it is not communicated with words at all, just through them not turning up.

It can feel hard to commit to an event weeks in advance because who knows what else might come up in the meantime?

Sometimes your better offer is listening to your anxiety and staying home.

Sometimes your better offer is choosing one friend over another.

Sometimes your better offer is choosing something that serves you in that moment over what you have already committed to.

There is nothing inherently wrong with any of those choices, but they should be intentional, not habitual.

An underrated act of generosity is simply turning up to something you said you’d go to. Even if you might not feel like it in the moment.

It shows the person that invited that you care. That you respect them. That you recognise the effort it takes to organising something, and that it matters when people come.

And if you can’t make it, letting someone know matters too.

Because people want to be valued and that is often just as important as being there.

How Weakness Becomes Strength

Your greatest strength comes from your greatest struggle.

For me, that strength is curiosity. It’s helped me get to know and understand people well. I’m not the best in the world at it, but I’m pretty good—and it’s served both me and the people around me.

This strength is born from a place of lack—from a deep-seated belief that I didn’t have much to offer in conversations. So I learned to fill silence with questions that draw others out.

Initially I just enjoyed the feeling of relief to not have the pressure of carrying a conversation, but over time I realised that getting to know people is fascinating and a gift that they give to me. Everyone has a story, something interesting going on in their world that we can learn from and be encouraged by.

I’m grateful for those insecure (and incorrect) beliefs, because they led me to develop a strength I can use for good. What I once saw as a weakness has quietly become one of the most valuable parts of who I am.

It didn’t arrive as confidence or clarity. It arrived as compensation—an attempt to avoid discomfort, to fill silence, to protect myself from judgment. But somewhere along the way, that coping mechanism became curiosity. And that curiosity became connection.

The irony is that the belief I was trying to escape—that I didn’t have much to offer—ended up shaping something that helps me draw the best out of others. Not because I fixed myself, but because I followed where that insecurity led long enough to discover its value.

And maybe that’s the point.

We don’t just grow by eliminating our weaknesses. Sometimes we grow by walking through them long enough that they transform into something useful, even beautiful.

I don’t always need to have the perfect thing to say – and I’m comfortable with that. It keeps me curious, engaged, and open, creating space for other people’s stories to come alive.

And for that, I’m genuinely grateful.

Think Helping Others Is a Waste of Time? Think Again

What’s the best excuse you’ve ever heard for being late?

“I stopped to help someone.”

It’s one of the few reasons no one argues with.

What about,

…I helped a guy push his broken-down car off the road.
…I gave a lift to a friend.
…I waited with a little girl until she found her mum.
…I helped a stranger with directions to the train station.
…I came across a car accident—no one was hurt, but I stayed with one of the drivers until their family arrived.

No one would call any of these a waste of time—even if they made you late. We instinctively recognise them for what they are: good, generous things to do.

In fact, people have lied about doing things like this just to justify being late. I’m not suggesting you do that—but it says something important. Deep down, we all agree: helping others is a good use of our time, even when it disrupts our plans.

That said, if this happens to you all the time, it’s probably best not to talk about it too much. Even good deeds can wear thin if they consistently inconvenience the same people.

It’s interesting, though—we think very differently about giving away our time compared to giving away our money.

We tend to guard our money, but spend our time freely.
And yet, we have far less time than we do money, although we waste both.

If we spent money the way we spend time, how would that impact us?

Maybe the better question is this:

What would change if we treated our time as something worth giving, rather than something we’re always trying to protect?

Because the minutes you “lose” helping someone else are rarely wasted.

They’re often the ones that matter most.

Assume the Best: The Secret to Clearer Communication

You know the saying, “Never make an assumption—it makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘mption’.” Or something like that.

Truly understanding what someone is saying, rather than what you think they are saying, takes time and effort. There’s no denying it—it’s hard work—but the payoff is huge: fewer misunderstandings and a safer space for open communication.

As James Clear puts it, “Not taking things personally can be a form of generosity. You give people the space to say things imperfectly.”

In my experience, the only consistently safe assumption is to assume the best intentions of the person you’re communicating with. Assume they are trying to help, share something positive, or are maybe having a rough moment and their words aren’t really about you. Even if you’re wrong, starting from that mindset gives the relationship room to grow, recover, or shift to a healthier space.

Assuming the worst, on the other hand, is much harder to work with—and you’ll often be wrong more than you’re right.