Turkey Memes and Gratitude Posts

It’s Thanksgiving, which means that our social media feeds are filled with turkey memes, gratitude posts and pics of perfect families around perfect tables.

I’m not against gratitude; I’m actually for it. But I’ve learned that real gratitude - the kind that actually sustains you - doesn’t look like the social media version of Thanksgiving.

Real gratitude is harder than that. And more honest.

Let me tell you what I mean.

This week, I had my quarterly cancer scans. If you’ve never had to get regular scans to make sure your cancer - or any significant medical condition - hasn’t come back, let me paint the picture: you spend a few days walking around like everything’s normal, while a small voice in the back of your head asks if this is the time your luck runs out. You smile at colleagues who have no idea you spent last night staring at the ceiling, doing mental math about treatment options and life expectancy.

So far. my tests have come back clear, so it looks like I’m still cancer-free.

I’m grateful.

Deeply and profoundly grateful.

But here’s what I’ve learned about gratitude through two cancer diagnoses, countless rounds of chemo, and more early morning training sessions than I can count: it’s not about pretending the hard stuff doesn’t exist. It’s about finding something real to hold onto when everything else is uncertain.

When I was going through treatment for Stage 3B colorectal cancer - chemo, radiation, more chemo - I wasn’t grateful for cancer. I’m still not. Anyone who tells you that cancer is a “gift” or a “blessing in disguise” hasn’t been through it, or they’re trying to sell you something.

But I was grateful for other things. Small things, mostly.

I was grateful that I could still get up at 5 AM and move, even when “moving” meant a slow walk instead of a run. I was grateful for the nurse who remembered my name. I was grateful for the friend who showed up for lunch and didn’t expect me to be inspiring or brave or anything other than tired.

I run one of Long Island’s largest nonprofits. We serve 35,000 people a year - families trying to escape poverty, kids struggling with trauma, people fighting addiction, communities trying to heal from violence. These are folks who don’t have a lot of obvious things to be grateful for. They’re not posting thankful lists on Facebook.

They’re just trying to survive.

And yet, I’ve watched people in our programs at FCA find something to hold onto. The woman who recently got a new job and a fresh start. The kid who found one teacher who believes in him. The parent who made it another day without relapsing.

That’s real gratitude. Not denying the hard stuff. Not pretending everything’s fine. Just finding one true thing to anchor to when everything else is shifting.

Here’s what I know after 30+ years of serving vulnerable communities and then becoming vulnerable myself: gratitude isn’t a destination. It’s a practice. And some days, the practice is harder than any triathlon I’ve ever finished.

Some days, gratitude looks like acknowledging that you’re still here. That you woke up. That someone cared enough to check on you. That the scan came back clear. That you have tomorrow to try again.

Last week, I gave a keynote about my cancer journey. A woman in the audience was crying - he’d lost her husband to cancer six months ago. After my speech, I apologized for not including trigger warnings about difficult content.

“Not at all,” she said. “This is exactly where I needed to be today.”

That moment - that connection between two people who’ve walked hard roads - that’s what I’m grateful for. Not the cancer. Not the pain. But the capacity to show up for each other in the middle of it.

So this Thanksgiving, I’m not going to tell you to count your blessings or focus on the positive or any of that.

I’m going to tell you this: if you can find one real thing to be grateful for today - even if it’s small, even if it’s just that you’re still here - that’s enough. That counts.

If you’re struggling to find something, that’s okay too. Some Thanksgivings are just about surviving the day. I’ve had a few of those myself.

But if you can, look for the people who showed up. The ones who shared a meal, who remembered your name, who didn’t ask you to be anything other than human. That’s where real gratitude lives - not in the highlight reel, but in the quiet moments when someone sees all of you and stays anyway.

I’m grateful for my quarterly scans coming back clear. But I’m even more grateful for the community that would have carried me if they hadn’t.