While cleaning out a closet the other day, I stumbled upon a familiarly frayed journal that had been a close confidant during my bout with cancer over fifteen years ago.

Thumbing through the pages, it felt like a different time and space – almost like I was reading about someone else rather than myself – yet the memories and references are a bit too familiar to ignore.  And while viscerally impossible for emotions not to swell up as I peruse my most intimate thoughts, I noticed a definite pattern to each entry - albeit long or short, each entry ended with a 1-2-3-4-5 of what I was grateful for that day.

Each day’s list told me much about the state of mind I was in. ...