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From Vol. 8, Issue 2, February 2026

The quiet discipline of gratitude

Practicing Stoicism || SHIRLEY KWOSEK SCIACCA

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Pass through this brief patch of time in harmony with nature, and come to your final resting place gracefully, just as a ripened olive might drop, praising the earth that nourished it and grateful to the tree that gave it growth. - Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 4.48

Claim the day

There is a fragile and powerful opportunity at the start of each day before the rush storms in, before yesterday collides with what must be done today, before the journal waits for either insight or obligation. There is a quiet moment when it becomes possible to remember that life does not hand us peace or gratitude. We must stand within our lives and claim the day.

Before the telephone, the computer, the messages, and the weight of responsibility arrive, the Stoics remind us that how a day begins shapes how it is endured. Morning rituals, intentionality, gratitude, and attention to what we can control are not forms of denial or toxic positivity. They are disciplines—practices that build resilience and virtue in the presence of pain, not in its absence.

When my dear mother lived with me during her Alzheimer’s, the early morning hours were sacred. That quiet time allowed me to be grateful for the day, knowing there might not be a tomorrow. Even when much of the day made little sense, it was still ours. It was something we could share in love. I learned then that plans often dissolve, but we remain. And even during the most difficult moments, somehow, we were okay. The simple gift of being alive, of taking one more breath, of rising and moving under your own power becomes enough.

Being thankful for what did not happen

Gratitude also includes being thankful for what did not happen. Even in the face of loss, I can acknowledge that it was not my fate to face certain illnesses, procedures, or a life cut short. When my reality still contains abundance, choosing not to dwell on imagined futures allows me greater peace. Despite my struggles and my pain, I did not lose everything. My world did not collapse. I am not blind to difficulty—but I am grounded in what I have survived, and grateful there was not more.

By holding gratitude for both struggle and opportunity, I also maintain my balance. I see my life as a training ground. I do not deny pain or injury; I recognize that much more could have occurred, and it did not. That awareness strengthens me.

Hardships shape character

When I look back on some of my most difficult times, I am reminded that hardship has shaped my character. Pain has refined my endurance. Loss has clarified what matters. Betrayal has sharpened discernment. Struggle has taught self- governance and resilience. Each challenge becomes a tool, honing something essential within me. Choosing gratitude released from the weight of the past and offered a renewed beginning each morning.

Giving up control

Stoic gratitude begins where control ends. We cannot command time or the choices of others. Instead, we learn to cherish what we love before it is gone. Ordinary moments— a smile, a kind word, a quiet breath—are fleeting. Presence deepens appreciation. We need not wait for absence to teach us gratitude; we can practice it now.

What I am most grateful for this year is the clear awareness that I live with intention today. Each morning offers another opportunity to choose restraint over reaction, integrity over convenience, and courage over ease. My gratitude is a daily commitment to live well, even imperfectly.

We don't need perfect life, only a steady life

The Stoics remind me that I do not need a perfect life. I only need steadiness in the life I have been given, with my feet planted firmly enough to carry pain without being crushed by it. When I remain calm, attentive, and grounded in the present, I stay connected to the very gifts for which I am grateful. Stoic gratitude does not require ideal conditions. It doesn’t demand that circumstances are easy or clear, or perfect. It doesn’t continuously ask for more. It only requires steadiness and a quiet, deliberate awareness of what is already enough.

Shirley Kwosek Sciacca is a writer, living in the midwest, seeking wisdom and resilience through lifelong learning and the practice of Stoic principles.