Kevin Durant's MVP Speech Honors His Mother in its Authentic Gratitude

The image here is the full-page ad Nike bought in the Oklahoman 
to honor Kevin Durant's MVP award.

Back in 2010, I wrote about how Kevin Durant handled his contract extension (he was not even a free agent yet) with the Oklahoma City Thunder (formerly the Seattle Sonics) while LeBron James made this HUGE media circus called The Decision (it has its own Wikipedia page - how many other player decisions in which team s/he will play with have their own Wikipedia page?).

So Kevin Durant is back in the news, having (at age 25) won his first NBA Most Valuable Player award (to go with several scoring titles). Likely, this is also the first of many.

He gave a very heart-felt and moving acceptance speech, thanking all of his teammates, especially Russell Westbrook, and also thanking all of his coaches.

But what really tugged at the heartstrings was the thank you he gave to his mother. How beautiful to see an athlete show such integrity on the biggest stage of his young career.

Here is the whole speech:


Some time markers for those who want to get to the point:

3:40 Durant individually thanks his teammates
13:05 Durant speaks about his bond with Russell Westbrook
18:12 Durant thanks his coaches
21:00 Durant thanks his family and his mom

 

Here is the USA Today story on the NBA using a Durant's words about his mother in a new Mothers' Day commercial.

When Kevin Durant gave his speech after winning the MVP, he gave his mother perhaps the best Mother’s Day present of all.

The Oklahoma City Thunder star touchingly said his mother was the “real MVP” at the end of his speech, giving way to a standing ovation for his mother and tears from mothers around the world.

The speech is now part of a new NBA ‘Mother’s Day’ commercial. Because while we can’t all thank our moms with a touching speech after winning the NBA MVP award, we can certainly remind her that she’s the MVP in our life.

Or at least send flowers. Helpful reminder: It’s Sunday.

Happy Mother's Day to all of the Moms out there
who have or are raising authentic young men!

Matthew Hoffman - When Being Thankful for Next to Nothing, Means Everything

Here is a nice post from Matthew Hoffman at the Good Men Project on being thankful when we have very little in the way of possessions for which to feel thankful. It's not about things . . . .

When Being Thankful for Next to Nothing, Means Everything

November 28, 2013 by Matthew Hoffman

Matthew Hoffman finds joy in a life uncluttered by material possessions.

Money, money, money! That’s what it’s all about, right? Or is it good looks? Washboard abs? How about being and staying young? Having a sweet car? What makes you happy? What are you thankful for?

Me? I’m thankful for nothing. OK, to be fair, I should say I’m thankful for almost nothing.

I grew up poor. Not living-on-the-streets-poor, but we were pretty bad off for a long time. And we never had extra. Until I was in my 20′s, almost everything we had was used, hand-me-downs, or something basic that mom and dad had struggled to save up for.

There are so many stories I could tell, so many examples I could give. Here are a couple of the more colorful ones:

The family legend has it that my father, who once owned a prosperous ambulance business in Bethlehem, PA, went bankrupt and the creditors came after everything we had. As the story goes my mother, a nurse by trade and a young mother of a four year old boy, and a newborn (me), was home when police and movers came into the house and took everything— including the crib I was sleeping in. Not surprisingly, my parents split up for a year or so after that. It was a real low point.

When the family came together again, we landed in Kutztown, PA, in a skinny, drafty little mobile home. We still called them trailers in those days, because ours could have been towed with a big pickup truck. On a particularly cold morning I found the dog’s water frozen on the kitchen floor. And yes, the heater was running. I’m pretty sure my chronic dislike of the cold comes from spending years in that awful trailer.

One Thanksgiving while living in that trailer, all my parents could afford to feed us were hamburgers. No turkey. No fixings. This was another low point, and my father vowed to always put a turkey on the table, one way or another.

Finally, I have some pictures of myself as a little boy in grade school wearing the most horrible fashions the 70′s had to offer. Since almost all our clothing was given to us, we were often given what others didn’t want to wear. To this very day paisley turns my stomach because I had to wear a stupid brown paisley button-down shirt over and over. Well, I shouldn’t complain. I had a green paisley button-down shirt, too. Sigh.

So yeah, we were poor.

Eventually things got better, but those experiences when I was three, five, ten, they’ve stayed with me. I remember at Christmas getting just a few presents, most of them fairly cheap, and sometimes one larger item. A refurbished bike. A large toy truck. Something like that. And for my birthday, which is less than a month after Christmas, I usually got a card, a song, and a homemade cake after dinner. No party. No friends over. Certainly no inflatable bouncy-house and a clown. That’s it, and it’s that very austerity of which I am thankful today.

My wife also grew up without much, being the daughter of Bible translators in a foreign land. We both know what it’s like to not have much, and to be thankful for what little we have.

Our family has one car. We rent a small house and make four people and three cats live in it. We grow some of our own food every summer. We don’t have cable. We recycle everything we can. Just this year we got our first iPhone—and only because it was a free upgrade. And even that feels like an opulent extravagance. We wash zip-lock bags and we don’t even buy tin foil or paper towels. And you know what? We’re happy with that.

I’m not trying to make my family sound good. We’re not the Hipsters of Humility trying to make you feel bad. Honest. We just grew up without much, so that’s actually how we choose to live. We find more joy in life by not being focused on ‘stuff’. I only wish others could have the same experience. To be able to reject materialism because it just isn’t something you need, that’s a true blessing. It’s liberating in a way that’s difficult to explain, but there are some plusses.

We live simply, so we have more energy, money and time to spend on family, faith and hobbies. We’re making a tiny little difference in the war to save the planet. We’re not comparing ourselves to others’ things, so we don’t feel like we’re inferior or missing out on something. And we’re not giving much money to big business, which makes us happy for different reasons.

And so I am thankful for nothing, or next to nothing. Because I grew up with so little, it’s like an old friend. And you can become friends with nothing as well. If the constant pursuit of “success” —whatever you think that is—has begun to seem futile, then join us.

Give in to the Null Side. We don’t have much, but we’re happy with what we have.


Photo: Flickr/Evelyn Lim

Being Truly Thankful

Beyond Counting Blessings
Being Truly Thankful

by Madisyn Taylor

Our gratitude deepens when we begin to be thankful for being alive during this time and living the life we are living.

Often when we practice being thankful, we go through the process of counting our blessings, acknowledging the wonderful people, things and places that make up our reality. While it is fine to be grateful for the good fortune we have accumulated, true thankfulness stems from a powerful comprehension of the gift of simply being alive, and when we feel it, we feel it regardless of our circumstances. In this deep state of gratitude, we recognize the purity of the experience of being, in and of itself, and our thankfulness is part and parcel of our awareness that we are one with this great mystery that is life.
It is difficult for most of us to access this level of consciousness as we are very caught up in the ups and downs of our individual experiences in the world. The thing to remember about the world, though, is that it ebbs and flows, expands and contracts, gives and takes, and is by its very nature somewhat unreliable. If we only feel gratitude when it serves our desires, this is not true thankfulness. No one is exempt from the twists and turns of fate, which may, at any time, take the possessions, situations, and people we love away from us. Ironically, it is sometimes this kind of loss that awakens us to a thankfulness that goes deeper than just being grateful when things go our way. Illness and near-miss accidents can also serve as wake-up calls to the deeper realization that we are truly lucky to be alive.
We do not have to wait to be shaken to experience this state of being truly thankful for our lives. Tuning in to our breath and making an effort to be fully present for a set period of time each day can do wonders for our ability to connect with true gratitude. We can also awaken ourselves with the intention to be more aware of the unconditional generosity of the life force that flows through us regardless of our circumstances.

Gratitude

Over the past decade or so, I have mentioned my last therapist, Maude (the one therapist who really helped me heal), in various conversations with friends, always with a sense of awe or deep appreciation. She didn't offer answers or platitudes, but she had the wisdom of lived (and learned) experience, as well as a very skillful compassion that was not always gentle. Some days her compassion was so direct that it broke me wide open, left me gasping for air, feeling as raw as an exposed nerve.

With Maude I learned to cry again. I learned how to mourn. I learned that my childhood was not normal and not healthy. I learned how to accept myself, and in that process I learned how to forgive my parents for their failings, their shortcomings, and their ignorance. I learned that I was a kind of ugly duckling in my family and that separating from them as soon as I was able was not ungrateful, not disloyal, not selfish - it was necessary for my growth and survival.

I learned that all the drugs, alcohol, and promiscuity of my teen years - behaviors that had filled me with a sense of shame, that made me feel like a broken and terrible person - were nothing more than unskillful coping strategies, they were the ways I found not to chase a bottle of Vicodin with a fifth of whiskey and a handful of Valium. I learned to feel compassion rather than contempt for that scared and wounded kid that I had been.

I learned that depression can be a sane response to an insane world (this is a reframe of a quote from Ronald David Laing, who once said: "Insanity sometimes is the sane response to a mad society"). I also learned that my particular kind of depression was a form of living in the past, and that my anxiety was a way to live in fear of the future, a perspective that came originally from Lao Tzu:

If you are depressed you are living in the past.
If you are anxious you are living in the future.
If you are at peace you are living in the present.

I learned how to apply mindfulness and awareness to my interior states, an approach I was familiar with from the writings of Pema Chödrön. I learned that my Buddhist practice was not confined to time spent in meditation, that the best place to practice was my daily life.

After a couple of years, I began to notice that I was not so reactive to daily stresses and annoyances. I came to realize that the political blog I was writing at the time was making me miserable and cynical, aggravating my depression. I stopped following political news and switched to blogging at Integral Options Cafe, then to this blog.

I switched my blogging focus to growth, psychology, philosophy, and health. I became curious about what it means to be a man in this culture, during this time when gender roles and identities are shifting so rapidly. I began blogging here, at The Masculine Heart.

Soon I realized it was time to go back to school, to return to my original goal of becoming a psychotherapist. That had been my major during my first stint in college, but the program as too reductionist and I switched to an English degree and then a masters in humanities (literature and comparative religions).

When I was nearly 40, I was finally ready to become a therapist.

I am still learning, still trying to be a better person, and through working with my clients, I become my best self more and more every day. This is the gift they give me without ever knowing.

Even now, when I am working with clients, I hear Maude's voice in my head, asking the hard questions, reminding me to connect my brain with my heart in every moment. For that gift, I will be forever grateful.

Ajahn Sumedho - The Gift of Gratitude

From the Tricycle archives, this is a nice reminder that gratitude is a gift.

The Gift of Gratitude

Ajahn Sumedho recounts the joyful unfolding of a deep appreciation for his teacher and parents.

Ajahn Sumedho

Even if one should carry about one’s mother on one shoulder and one’s father on the other, and so doing should live a hundred years . . . moreover, if one should set them up as supreme rulers, having absolute rule over the wide earth abounding in the seven treasures—not even by this could one repay one’s parents. And why! Bhikkhus, parents do a lot for their children: they bring them up, provide them with food, introduce them to the world.

Yet, bhikkhus, whoever encourages their faithless parents, and settles and establishes them in faith; or whoever encourages their immoral parents and settles and establishes them in morality, or whoever encourages their stingy parents, and settles and establishes them in generosity, or whoever encourages their foolish parents, and settles and establishes them in wisdom—such a person, in this way repays, more than repays, what is due to their parents.
—the Buddha, Anguttara-nikaya 2.32

My father died about six years ago. He was then ninety years old, and he had never shown love or positive feelings toward me. So from early childhood I had this feeling that he did not like me. I carried this feeling through most of my life. I never had any kind of love, any kind of warm relationship with my father. It was always a perfunctory “Hello son, good to see you.” And he seemed to feel threatened by me. I remember whenever I came home as a Buddhist monk he would say, “Remember, this is my house, you’ve got to do as I say.” This was his greeting—and I was almost fifty years old at the time! I don’t know what he thought I was going to do.

My father was an aspiring artist before the Depression. Then in ’29 the crash came and he and my mother lost everything, so he had to take a job selling shoes to support us. Then the Second World War started, but my father was too old to enlist in the military. He wanted to support the war effort, so he became a ship fitter in Seattle. He didn’t like that job, but it was the best way he could help in the war. After the war he went back to his shoe business and became a manager of a retail store. He never really liked that work either, but he felt he was too old to find another profession. He had sacrificed his own preferences to support my mother, my sister, and me.

When I was at university in the 1950s, it was fashionable to study psychology. At that time the trend was to blame your mother for everything that went wrong in your life. The focus was on mothers and what they had done to cause us to suffer now. I didn’t realize then that suffering was natural. Of course my mother was not perfect, so naturally there were things she could have done better. But generally speaking, the dedication, commitment, love, and care were all there—and directed mainly to making the lives of my father, my sister, and me as good and as happy as could be. She asked very little for herself, and when I think back like this, katannu, Pali for gratitude, arises in my mind for my mother and father.

The Buddha encouraged us to think of the good things done for us by our parents, by our teachers, friends, whomever; and to do this intentionally, to cultivate it, rather than just letting it happen accidentally.

My students who have a lot of anger toward their parents ask me how they can develop gratitude toward them. Teaching lovingkindness, or metta, on too sentimental a basis can actually increase anger. I remember a woman on one of our retreats who, whenever it came to spreading metta to her parents, would go into a rage. Then she felt very guilty about it. Every time she thought about her mother, she felt only rage. This was because she used only her intellect; she wanted to do this practice of metta, but emotionally felt anything but lovingkindness.

It’s important to see this conflict between the intellectual and the emotional life. We know in our mind that we should be able to forgive our enemies and love our parents, but in the heart we feel “I can never forgive them for what they’ve done.” So then we either feel anger and resentment, or we begin to rationalize: “Because my parents were so bad, so unloving, so unkind, they made me suffer so much that I can’t forgive or forget.” Or: “There’s something wrong with me. I’m a terrible person because I can’t forgive.” When this happens, I’ve found it helpful to have metta for my own feelings. If we feel that our parents were unkind and unloving, we can have metta toward the feeling we have in our hearts; without judgment, we can see that this is how it feels, and to accept that feeling with patience.

Once I began to accept my negativity about my father rather than suppress it, I could resolve it. When we resolve something with mindfulness, we can let it go and free ourselves from its power. The resolution of such a conflict leads us to contemplate what life is about.

A life without gratitude is a joyless life. If life is just a continuous complaint about the injustices and unfairness we have received and we don’t remember anything good ever done to us, we fall into depression—not an uncommon problem these days. It is impossible to imagine ever being happy again: we think this misery is forever.

When I became a Buddhist monk in Thailand, I was very fortunate to meet a teacher, Luang Por Chah, known widely as Ajahn Chah, who became the catalyst for the gratitude in my life. At that time I was thirty-three or thirty-four years old, and I must say gratitude was not yet a part of my life’s experience. I was still very much obsessed with myself, what I wanted, what I thought. However, after training as a Buddhist monk for some years, in about the sixth year of monastic life, I had a heart-opening experience that was very much the experience of katannu katavedita, or gratitude to one’s parents.

I had been a Buddhist for many years before I met Ajahn Chah. I had tremendous interest and faith in Buddhism, as well as an eagerness to study and practice it. But it was still coming from the sense of my doing it, my studying it, my trying to practice it. When I became a monk, there was still this tendency: “I want to get rid of suffering. I want to be enlightened.” I was not much concerned about other people, about my parents, or even about Ajahn Chah, with whom I was living at the time. I thought that it was very nice that he was helpful to me, but I did not feel a deep gratitude.

I had the idea that life owed all this to me—an unpleasant kind of conceit. When we are brought up in middle-class comfort as I had been, we take so much for granted. My parents worked hard to make my life comfortable, but I thought that they should have worked harder, and that I deserved more than what they gave me. Even though this was not a conscious thought, there was the underlying attitude that I deserved all I had: people should give me these things; my parents should make my life as good as possible, as I wanted it to be. So from that viewpoint, it was Ajahn Chah’s duty to teach and guide me!

In Thailand, I practiced with diligence and was determined in my monastic life. After participation in five rainy season retreats (vassas), a monk is no longer considered a novice and is free to leave the monastery. I felt that being with a teacher was fine, but I wanted to go away on my own. I left for central Thailand from the northeast. After the vassa I went on a pilgrimage to India. This was in about 1974, and I decided to go as a tudong-bhikkhu, wandering from place to place as part of an austere form of monastic practice. Somebody provided me with a ticket from Bangkok to Calcutta, and I found myself in Calcutta with my alms bowl, my robe, and, abiding by the rules of monkhood, no money. In Thailand it had been easy, but in India the prospect of wandering around with nothing more than an alms bowl seemed quite frightening at first. As it happened, the five months I spent in India were quite an adventure, and I have very pleasant memories of that time. The life of a mendicant worked in India. Of all countries, it should work there, where the Buddha lived and taught.

I began to think of Ajahn Chah and to recognize the kindness he had extended to me. He had accepted me as his disciple, looked after me, given me the teachings, and helped me in almost every way. And there was his own example. If you wanted to be a monk, you wanted to be like him. He was a full human being, a man who inspired me, someone I wanted to emulate—and I must say there weren’t so many men that I had had that feeling toward. In the States, the role models for men were not very attractive to me—John Wayne or President Eisenhower or Richard Nixon were not my role models. Film stars and athletes were given great importance, but none of them inspired me.

But then in Thailand, I’d found this monk. He was very small; I towered above him. When we were together sometimes that surprised me, because he had such an enormous presence. There was this feeling about him that attracted people. So I found myself going over to see him in his hut in the evenings, or whenever it was possible; I wanted to take every opportunity I had to hang around. I asked him once what it was in him that drew people to him, and he said, “I call it my magnet.” He used his magnet to attract people so that he could teach them the dhamma. This is how he used the charismatic quality he had: not in the service of his ego, but to help people.

The Lord Buddha, after his enlightenment, at first thought that the dhamma was too subtle, that no one would understand it, so there was no point in teaching it. Then, according to the legend, one of the gods came forth and said, “Please Lord, for the welfare of those who have little dust in their eyes, teach the dhamma.” The Buddha then contemplated with his powerful mind who might understand the dhamma teaching. He remembered his early teachers but through his powers realized that both of them had died. Then he remembered his five friends who had been practicing with him before, and who had deserted him. Out of compassion he went off to find these five friends, and expounded his brilliant teaching on the Four Noble Truths. This makes me feel katannu katavedita to the Lord Buddha. It’s marvelous: here I am—this guy, here, in this century—having an opportunity to listen to the dhamma, and to have this pure teaching still available.

Just having a living teacher like Ajahn Chah was not like worshiping a prophet who lived twenty-five hundred years ago, it was actually inheriting the lineage of the Lord Buddha himself. Perhaps because of visiting the Buddhist holy places, my gratitude began to become very strong. Then, thinking of Ajahn Chah in Thailand, I remembered how I had thought: “I’ve done my five years, now I’m going to leave. I’m going to have a few adventures, do what I want to do, be out from under the eye of the old man.” I realized then that I had actually run away.

When I felt this gratitude, all I wanted to do was get back to Thailand and offer myself to Ajahn Chah. How can you repay a teacher like that? I did not have any money, and that was not what he was interested in anyway. Then I thought that the only way I could make him happy was to be a good Buddhist monk and to go back and help him out. Whatever he wanted me to do, I would do it. With that intention, I went back after five months in India and gave myself to the teacher. It was a joyful offering, not a begrudging one, because it came out of this katannu, this gratitude for the good things I had received.

From that time on, I found that my meditation practice began to improve. That hard selfishness cracked in me: my trying to get something, my desire for harmony, my desire to practice and have a peaceful life, free of responsibility. When I gave up all that, things seemed to fall into place. What used to be difficult, like concentrating the mind, became easier, and I found that life had become joyful to me.

The last time I went to see my father, I decided that I would try to get some kind of warmth going between us before he died. In the last decade of my father’s life he was quite miserable and became very resentful. He had terrible arthritis and was in constant pain, and he had Parkinson’s disease. Eventually he had to be put in a nursing home. He was completely paralyzed. He could move his eyes and talk, but the rest of his body was rigid. He was resentful of what had happened to him because before he had been a strong, independent man.

When I saw him, his body needed to be stimulated, so I said, “Let me massage your leg.” “No, no, you don’t need to do that,” he said. “You’ll get bedsores, because you really have to have your skin massaged. I would really like to do it.” He still refused, but I could tell he was considering it. “I think it’ll be a good thing,” I told him. “So you’d really like to do it?” he asked me. “Yes.”

I started massaging his feet, his legs, his neck, shoulders, hands, and face; he really enjoyed the physical contact. It was the first time he had been touched like that. Physical contact is quite meaningful, it’s an expression of feeling. And I began to realize that my father really loved me, but didn’t know how to say it. I had this great sense of relief and immense gratitude.

Ajahn Sumedho is the Abbot of Amaravati Buddhist Centre in England and the most senior Western disciple of the late Thai meditation master Ajahn Chah.

(Image: First Time, Kimberly Austin, 2003, Van Dyke prints on watercolor paper and vellum mounted on wood, 2 panels, 11 x 8 inches each)

The Secret Lives of Men: "This is the Moment" - Walter Green

Very nice episode on gratitude from Chris Blazina's The Secret Life of Men. Walter Green is author of, This is the Moment: How One Man’s Yearlong Journey Captured the Power of Extraordinary Gratitude.

"This is the Moment" Walter Green

Original Air Date: November 30, 2010

This transformative work is about to take you on one man’s extraordinary journey of gratitude. Over the course of a year, Walter Green traveled throughout the United States (and even abroad) to visit 44 of the people who have significantly impacted his life at various stages—be it as a young man trying to find his way in the world, a businessman building his career and family, or a man who sold his company and found new meaning in mentoring and philanthropy. During these visits, Walter conveyed his profound gratitude in a purposeful and explicit way. He wanted to tell these men and women how much they mattered to him before anyone’s health or life was compromised and the opportunity was missed. In this inspirational gem of a book, not only will you accompany Walter on his gratitude journey, but you’ll also find yourself greatly moved by all that resulted from these powerful encounters. And as you read, you’ll acquire the tools to create meaningful conversations with your own “road-changers,” no matter what your age or life circumstance. These individuals could be family members, friends, teachers, colleagues, counselors, or any number of others who have influenced you. Your expressions of appreciation will undoubtedly enrich your relationships with them . . . and will provide you with amazing insights into your own life as well.

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Tags: The Secret Lives of Men, Chris Blazina, Walter Green, This is the Moment, How One Man’s Yearlong Journey Captured the Power of Extraordinary Gratitude, men, masculinity, gratitude, books

Tripp Lanier - Do this today and feel better about your life. Seriously.

Great post from Tripp.

Do this today and feel better about your life. Seriously.

I just answered an email to someone asking about how to accept praise and deal with the nagging feeling of “I’m not enough.” Good thing is that I’ve got some experience with these goblins. :-)

Here was my response:

There's a "law" that says, what you focus on grows. Right now, I'm imagining that you're focusing on one side of the story and in your world it eclipses what is positive.

Good news, is that you can actually train yourself to shift that and ultimately feel fulfilled and satisfied.

You just gotta pull your head out of your ass. :-)

Here's some tips I've used to own my value and feel satisfied:

EVERYDAY take five minutes to sit down and shut the fuck up. Make a mental list of all the things that are going well and are benefiting you (and others).

I usually use a sentence-stem like "I'm grateful for..." and just fill in the blank. Sometimes it is big (the latest NM episode that rocked) sometimes it is small (the ice cream cone after lunch).

When I started doing this it was challenging to find things to be grateful for. I had trained myself to only see "what is not enough".

This is a practice. Do it daily. I now find that I can sit there and go on and on and on for the things that make my life amazing.

Next, ask yourself, "What did I do to facilitate that positive event/thing?" Whatever it is, big or small, own your part.

Just like taking radical responsibility for when the shit hits the fan in life, take responsibility for the good stuff. For me it could be, "I'm grateful that Joel Harper was on The New Man. I was curious about his work so I emailed his publicist and asked if he would be on the show."

It doesn't have to be monumental. Nonetheless own your thoughts/actions and SEE that you are RESPONSIBLE.

You get extra points if you do this before you go to sleep at night, too.

There's also a this website which has a ton of easy practices to do. I highly recommend it.

Tags: life, personal growth, happiness, Tripp Lanier, Do this today and feel better about your life. Seriously., masculinity, men, gratitude

Men Have a Difficult Time with Gratitude, an Essential Element of Happiness

I suspect this is true and too bad that it is - it need not be so.

Research indicates that gratitude is essential to happiness, but that men are uneasy expressing gratitude when receiving gifts (this might extend to other areas as well, but that would need further study), especially older men and especially when receiving gifts from older men.

Maybe it's a generational thing - I am often uncomfortable receiving gifts, though I have gotten better about this in recent years. Right or wrong, men might see gifts as "charity" in some twisted way, though I'm not sure about that.

Anyway, this is interesting.

From George Mason University.

New Research Suggests Key to Happiness is Gratitude—and Men May be Locked Out

Mar. 12, 2009

Media Contact: Tara Laskowski, tlaskows@gmu.edu 703-993-8815

FAIRFAX, Va.—With Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and high school and college graduations upcoming, there will be plenty of gift-giving and well wishes. When those start pouring in, let yourself be grateful—it’s the best way to achieve happiness according to several new studies conducted by Todd Kashdan, associate professor of psychology at George Mason University.

Gratitude, the emotion of thankfulness and joy in response to receiving a gift, is one of the essential ingredients for living a good life, Kashdan says. Kashdan’s most recent paper, which was published online this week at the Journal of Personality, reveals that when it comes to achieving well-being, gender plays a role. He found that men are much less likely to feel and express gratitude than women.

“Previous studies on gratitude have suggested that there might be a difference in gender, and so we wanted to explore this further—and find out why. Even if it is a small effect, it could make a huge difference in the long run,” says Kashdan.

In one study, Kashdan interviewed college-aged students and older adults, asking them to describe and evaluate a recent episode in which they received a gift. He found that women compared with men reported feeling less burden and obligation and greater levels of gratitude when presented with gifts. In addition, older men reported greater negative emotions when the gift giver was another man.

“The way that we get socialized as children affects what we do with our emotions as adults,” says Kashdan. “Because men are generally taught to control and conceal their softer emotions, this may be limiting their well-being.”

As director of the Laboratory for the Study of Social Anxiety, Character Strengths, and Related Phenomena at Mason, Kashdan is interested in the assessment and cultivation of well-being, curiosity, gratitude and meaning and purpose in life. He has been active in the positive psychology movement since 2000, when he taught one of the first college courses on the science of happiness.

Kashdan says that if he had to name three elements that are essential for creating happiness and meaning in life it would be meaningful relationships, gratitude, and living in the present moment with an attitude of openness and curiosity. His book “Curious?,” which outlines ways people can enhance and maintain the various shades of well-being, is scheduled for release in April 2009 with HarperCollins.

Tags: Todd Kashdan, Men, Difficult Time, Gratitude, Essential Element, Happiness, psychology, gifts, older men, George Mason University