The Trouble With Getting Used to Things: How to Stop Taking Your Blessings for Granted
Have you ever noticed that something you once desperately wanted can eventually become... well, just another thing?
Remember that house you dreamed about? The one you walked through imagining where the Christmas tree would go, where the morning coffee would taste particularly wonderful, and how lovely it would be to finally have a place of your own?
Fast-forward a few years. You're walking through the living room wondering who left their socks on the floor, why the windows need cleaning again, and whether the furnace has always made that noise.
The house hasn't changed much. You have.
Or perhaps you remember buying that lovely new car. You admired it in the driveway, ran your hand over the shiny paintwork and felt rather pleased with yourself. Now you climb in, throw your purse on the passenger seat, complain about the price of gas and wonder why the fellow in front of you can't drive any faster.
And that wonderful person you fell in love with? The one whose smile made your heart skip a beat? You may now find yourself asking why they chew quite so loudly.
What happened?
Psychologists have a name for this rather inconvenient feature of human nature. It's called hedonic adaptation.
And apparently, we're all rather good at it.
Our marvellous brains have a little problem
Hedonic adaptation describes our tendency to become accustomed to the good (and sometimes the bad) things in our lives. Something that once brought us enormous happiness gradually becomes part of the everyday landscape.
Researchers have studied this phenomenon for decades. Even dramatic life changes, including lottery wins, often produce less lasting happiness than we might expect. The initial excitement fades, and people frequently move back towards their previous levels of happiness.
Why?
Because our brains are designed to notice change. A new experience gets our attention. A new achievement gives us a little thrill. Something unexpected makes us sit up and take notice.
But once something becomes familiar, our brains quietly move it into the background.
This is actually quite clever. Imagine if every time you entered your kitchen, your brain insisted on being astonished by the refrigerator, the cupboards and the fact that you have running water. You'd never get anything done!
Our brains are efficient little creatures. They don't want to waste energy being amazed by yesterday's news. Unfortunately, this efficiency comes with a price.
We can become so accustomed to the good things in our lives that we stop really seeing them.
We spend years working towards a comfortable home, financial security, meaningful relationships, a garden, a little freedom, perhaps the opportunity to travel. Then, once we have them, we start looking for the next thing.
The next holiday. The next renovation. The next achievement. The next purchase.
We can become remarkably accomplished at improving our circumstances while remaining surprisingly unaware of how much we already have.
It's a bit like spending your entire life climbing a mountain, finally reaching the top, and immediately complaining that the path down looks rather steep.
So, is there a way around this?
Thankfully, yes. And it doesn't involve buying anything, achieving anything or adding another item to your already lengthy to-do list.
It's called savouring.
Savouring is the deliberate practice of slowing down and fully experiencing something good while it is happening. More than simply noticing it. Not mentally ticking it off as another nice thing in your day. Actually experiencing it.
Taste your coffee instead of drinking it while reading emails, checking the weather and wondering what you've forgotten.
When someone gives you a hug, stay there for an extra moment. Don't mentally move on to the next conversation.
Look at your home. Really look at it. Notice the light coming through the window, the familiar photographs, the little imperfections that make it yours.
Listen to someone you love without preparing your response.
Take a walk and notice the trees, the sky, the extraordinary fact that the world is still managing to put on a rather spectacular show without asking for your approval.
And here's something important: savour the ordinary things, not just the extraordinary ones.
We sometimes behave as though happiness is waiting for us somewhere in the future, at a wedding, on a holiday, when the house is finished, when the children are settled, when retirement finally arrives. But life is happening in the meantime.
And the meantime is rather a large part of our lives!
And this is where the spiritual part comes in
There is something deeply interesting about the relationship between savouring and gratitude. In fact, I wonder whether some of the wisdom in Scripture is an invitation to do precisely this: to become more attentive to the gifts that are already woven into our everyday lives.
Psalm 118:24 says:
"This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it."
Notice that it doesn't say, "Let us rejoice when everything finally works out."
It doesn't say, "Let us rejoice when we have more money, fewer problems, better health, a nicer house or a more agreeable neighbour."
It says this is the day.
This one. The ordinary, imperfect, sometimes frustrating day in which we find ourselves. There is a lovely spiritual challenge in that.
What if gratitude isn't primarily about making a list of all the good things we have? What if it is about learning to see them again? What if the spiritual life is, in part, the practice of paying attention?
Jesus frequently directed people's attention to things they might otherwise overlook. The birds of the air. The lilies of the field. The smallest seed. A child. A meal shared with friends.
He seemed to have a remarkable ability to draw attention to the sacredness of ordinary life. It will bless us if we could learn something from that.
We don't have to wait for a spectacular miracle to experience wonder. Sometimes the miracle is that the sun came up, someone remembered to call, the garden is growing, there is food on the table, and we have another opportunity to love somebody.
And one of the greatest spiritual disciplines is resisting the temptation to let familiarity rob us of wonder.
A little experiment: The Five-Minute Wonder
I'd like to suggest a small experiment. Nothing complicated. No special equipment. No expensive retreat required. For the next seven days, take five minutes to deliberately savour something you might normally overlook.
Day 1: Something you own.
Choose something in your home that you once worked hard to acquire. Look at it as though you were seeing it for the first time. Remember why you wanted it.
Day 2: Someone you love. Spend a few moments really looking at someone important to you. Notice something you appreciate about them. It's even a good idea to tell them.
Day 3: Something in nature. Find something growing, moving, changing or simply being. A tree, a bird, a flower, a patch of sunlight. Give it your undivided attention.
Day 4: An everyday pleasure. Enjoy a cup of tea, a meal, a warm shower or a comfortable chair without multitasking. Revolutionary, I know.
Day 5: Something about yourself. Think about something you can do today that you couldn't do years ago. Consider the experiences, lessons and relationships that have shaped you.
Day 6: An unexpected kindness. Remember something someone did for you that you may have taken for granted. Let yourself appreciate it again.
Day 7: The gift of this day. Before going to bed, think of three things that made today worth living. They don't have to be extraordinary. In fact, ordinary is rather the point.
You might be surprised by what happens.
The secret is not to dream less, but to notice more
I'm not suggesting that we should stop dreaming, growing, achieving or looking forward to new experiences. There is nothing wrong with wanting to make life better.
Just that we need to be careful that our desire for what comes next doesn't rob us of our appreciation for what is already here. We can spend so much time pursuing happiness that we forget to experience it. It is one of the great ironies of being human.
We have an extraordinary capacity for joy, beauty, love and wonder, yet we can become so accustomed to these things that we hardly notice them. The challenge is to wake ourselves up.
To look again at the person across the table. To appreciate the roof over our heads. To laugh at the familiar foibles of those we love. To notice the beauty outside the window. To be grateful for the small things that, when added together, make up an entire life.
I rather like the thought that God doesn't necessarily need to give us more things to make our lives richer. We simply need to become more awake to the gifts already surrounding us.
So, today, try this:
Stop for a moment. Look around.
Find something you've become so accustomed to that you've stopped noticing it.
And give it your attention.
Really see it. Really feel it. Be grateful for it.
The richest people aren't necessarily those who have the most. They are the ones who have learned not to overlook what they already have. And that, I suspect, is a rather wonderful way to live.
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