I have a potentially lethal genetic disease. It’s been passed on in my family generation to generation. I may or may not see it all the time as a gift, but it’s a gift.
Gene mutations made us human beings. I won the lottery, I have the body and the mind of a human being. It took countless mutations to go from single-cell organisms to human beings. Am I not going to be thankful just because two mutations–out of countless mutations–didn’t go the way I expected? Our ego is petty and get hung up in minutia.
It took a greater wisdom than mine to chart the way, who am I to complain about two mutations that I don’t understand?
I can’t change my genes. I can’t kick and scream all I want, nothing can change this fact. So, why all the kicking and screaming?
I’ve spent decades with a healthy body, while others struggle with the most ravaging symptoms of the same disease since the day they are born. Some of these kids and their parents are fighting to find a cure for this disease. This fills me with humility.
“I want what she had.” We live comparing our lives to the lives of others, blind to the infinite ways in which we’re blessed. I’m working on making every day a day of thanks-giving. I’m thankful for my genes, my little mutant genes.