📮 Letters to a Young Seeker
Letters to a Young Seeker is an occasional series that explores the mystery and art of living. The title honors the Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet. The word ‘Seeker’ in the title is inspired by the Delphic maxim: ‘Be a seeker of wisdom.’ *** This series is exclusive to members.
Dear Fellow Traveler,
This Thanksgiving season, I’ve been thinking about what two very different people would say if they could pull up a chair at our tables: Epicurus, an ancient philosopher who praised simple joys, and Brother David Steindl-Rast, a modern monk who has spent his life teaching gratefulness.
I doubt either of them would ask about our year. They’d probably be more interested in how we’re seeing what’s right in front of us—especially the small, easily overlooked gifts that are holding our life together today.
As I write this, dishes sit on the counter and voices drift in from another room. It’s Thanksgiving, and like most years, it’s a blend: some warmth, some awkwardness, and a few worries humming in the background. You might be feeling your own version of that right now.
It's okay if gratitude doesn’t come easily today; you're human. I believe that's where Epicurus and Brother David can offer guidance.
Epicurus is badly misunderstood. We hear “Epicurean” and picture feasts and indulgence. But the real Epicurus lived simply: a small house, a garden, plain food, a circle of friends. His idea of happiness wasn’t “having it all”—it was needing less and fully enjoying what is already enough.
He consistently encouraged his friends to appreciate what they have instead of desiring what they don’t. If Epicurus were seated beside us, I do not believe he would reprimand us for longing for things to be different. He knew illness, pain, and disappointment. But he would gently turn your attention.
He’d observe the plate in front of us, containing food we didn’t need to grow or hunt. He’d see the roof above, offering protection from cold and rain that most humans in history never enjoyed so easily.
From his perspective, these are not minor details.
Epicurus’ gratitude is practical and rooted in reality. It involves choosing not to let what’s missing overshadow what’s already there. It’s about asking, even during a chaotic year, “What in my life is already enough?”—and truly letting that answer matter.
Brother David comes from another world entirely—a Benedictine monastery instead of an Athenian garden—but he points in the same direction.
He’s famous for this line:
“It is not happiness that makes us grateful, but gratefulness that makes us happy.”
We often reverse that idea: “If my life goes well, then I’ll be grateful.” Brother David suggests the opposite: when you live gratefully, even an imperfect life can become surprisingly rich.
He loves to remind us that nothing about today was guaranteed.
Not the sunrise.
Not the fact that your heart kept beating through the night.
Not the chair you’re sitting in (or the electronic device you’re reading this on).
That’s not meant to guilt you into “being thankful.” It’s meant to awaken a sense of wonder. When you truly allow yourself to feel it—I did not have to have this day, and yet I do—ordinary things start to appear different.
All of life, Brother David would say, is a gift.
Blend Epicurus and Brother David, and you create a distinct form of gratitude. It acknowledges pain and doesn’t delay appreciating life until everything is perfect.
Think for a moment about your own life, “all things considered.”
You have likely experienced seasons that seemed overwhelming: a loss, a diagnosis, a broken plan, a silent house. During those moments, it was difficult to see anything beyond the pain, fear, or discomfort.
You’d never romanticize those times.
You wouldn’t choose them again.
And yet, you might quietly admit, “Strangely, I’m grateful for some of what they gave me, too.”
This kind of gratitude seeks to consider all aspects of life. Instead of simply saying, “Everything was good,” it acknowledges, “Everything was not good—and still, life is precious.”
I like to imagine Epicurus and Brother David sitting back from the table at the end of a day like this, not checking if everything went smoothly, but asking a simpler question: “Did you notice?”
If you did—even once—then “all things considered,” this Thanksgiving has already fulfilled its purpose. You’ve embraced a gratitude that doesn’t rely on a perfect life, only on eyes willing to notice the gifts hidden in the life you actually lead.
To quote Brother David one last time,
“I don’t speak of the gift, because not for everything that’s given to you can you really be grateful. You can’t be grateful for war in a given situation, or violence, or sickness, things like that. There are many things for which you cannot be grateful. But in every moment, you can be grateful.
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Thank you for reading; wishing you a joyful (and grateful) holiday season!
Until next time, be wise and be well.
J.W.
P.S. If you found today’s meditation helpful, consider sharing it with a friend!