I’m willing to go on the record that the saying #firstworldproblems usually irritates me — because often it’s either being used to simultaneously validate and negate a silly complaint by the person doing the complaining, or as a snarky put-down toward someone who complained. Granted, we all do need reminders that we probably have it made — as this video so convictingly reminded me when I saw it a few months ago. But given how often I personally need that reminder, I don’t ever want to remind anyone else any way but gently.

I needed a reminder earlier this week, when I took my car in to Toyota for a new bumper. We were rear-ended a couple weeks ago, on our way to Lindsey and Spencer’s engagement session. Thankfully, the man who hit us stepped up to pay for the repairs. And thankfully, the Toyota dealership has loaner cars, so for the next few days, I’ve got a Camry in my driveway instead of my Highlander. But as soon as the lady at the dealership handed me the key, I felt it coming on. I didn’t want this car, with the dashboard that had been scratched up by some previous driver. I wanted my car. My car, with its seats that are shaped more comfortably for my body. My car, with its push-button start and smart key system that allows me to unlock my door just by touching the handle. My car, with all my radio stations dialed in. My car, with the barcode for our neighborhood gate adhered to the window, so the gate pops open automatically and I don’t have to get in line at the guard house.

Right away, I knew just how ridiculous those thoughts were. We were in a car accident, and we weren’t injured. Our car is being repaired — at no cost to us. We get a brand new, perfectly functional sedan to drive until the Highlander is fixed — again, at no cost to us.

How often do we complain about the very things for which we should be thankful?

Yesterday morning, when I went outside with George, I found myself starting to inwardly grumble that it was such an overcast morning. But then I listened to the mockingbirds singing from our neighbor’s rooftop. I looked at the delicate moss growing along the trunk of our crepe myrtle. I breathed in the rain-perfumed air and all the complaints disappeared. Slowing down and soaking it in had changed my perspective so quickly. That morning reminded me of so many of my childhood summer mornings in Pennsylvania and Maryland and Virginia.

And all of a sudden, I was thankful for the very thing I had been complaining about only moments before.~ Laura