Whenever I’m anxious, mad or
generally feeling down, I like to remember everything I am grateful for. Mostly I remind myself that although people
drive like idiots sometimes, I should feel blessed that I can afford to be in a
car. Or when I’m feeling kind of
unspectacular as an individual, I remember all the times in my life that made
me feel special; even small, silly things like being a proud mom to a healthy
hamster. There was one particular moment
that I would like I’ve been itching to share.
I was
making dinner the other day and I was in a bit of a mood trying to rush and get
the potatoes in the oven because they take forever,
so naturally I was chopping them with purpose.
If you’ve ever chopped raw potatoes you’ll probably be familiar with how
loud it can get. So there I was loudly
cutting with a touch of impatience, and my mind wandered to a commercial I saw
for a Houdini mini TV-series. Adrien
Brody was portraying Houdini and I thought to myself how talented that man was
as my thoughts drifted to The Pianist.
It was then that I stopped with the potatoes for a while to recall the
scene when Szpilman is living in the apartment his German friends hid him
in. In one part when he is slowly
starving to death, he is trying to reach up into the cupboards to grab a plate
to put his exceedingly old, rotted potatoes on.
If you’ve seen this film, (which I HIGHLY recommend you watch if you’ve
yet to do so) you will know that Szpilman is so weak he cannot even reach the
top shelf, and plates come crashing down.
Essentially the Germans next door hear him and realize he is a Jew
hiding in a German building, and he is forced to flee. To me, this is one of the most devastating scenes
in the entire movie. I don’t mean to
undermine the other utterly horrific suffering, but there is just something so
heart wrenching to see someone so pitifully forbidden from living a happy and
healthy life that gutted me.
Back to making dinner, I thought. But turning to my cutting board I felt so full
of emotion that it took me a minute to even want to pick my knife back up, because
I felt so guilty that I could have the audacity to feel anything other than
immense gratitude making these potatoes.
I felt pity for those who would have given so much to be able to cut
their potatoes loudly. I did eventually
go back to making dinner, but I made a promise to myself that every time I held,
cut, or ate a potato I would think about how wonderfully blessed I am. I share this with hope that the next time you
find yourself down, you can think of this and feel grateful.
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