Thanksgiving: On Gratitude and the Life I Am Learning to Live

This week was Thanksgiving. A moment of pause, a breath, an invitation to reflect and to acknowledge what I am grateful for. For me, this day holds another layer. Three years ago, exactly now, I underwent surgery for cancer. I remember the fear. I remember how fragile everything felt. My mind was full of unanswered questions, and my body was simply trying to keep going through a time of profound uncertainty.

My son Dimitri, my daughter Calypso and I at the Musée des Beaux Arts of Montréal.

Three years later, I am not the same woman. I am more grounded. Not because I have understood everything, but because I have learned to remain with myself. Talk therapy and other forms of introspection helped me face what I had avoided for years. They gave me tools, language, and the courage to sit with my emotions rather than run from them. And my doctorate in health promotion became a form of reconstruction, a long and demanding process that allowed me to transform uncertainty into purpose and fear into direction. As I studied and tried to better understand my condition, I found myself drawn into the world of longevity, which slowly became both a personal and professional passion. My research followed this path, especially through the study on social frailty that is shaping my dissertation, while this blog grew alongside it as the place where I reflect more personally on what I learn. A space to grow, to share, and to stay connected to what matters.

Today I am grateful for something very simple. I am alive. Alive to spend time with my children and my husband. Alive to study what I love. Alive to walk slowly, to feel cold air on my face, to sit by the sea when I return to Italy, to rebuild old friendships and cultivate new ones in the United States. This work of nurturing relationships takes intention. It is becoming a defining part of my life. Social wellness is not an idea. It is presence. Phone calls. Shared meals. Small rituals. Listening. Showing up.

Source: chipconley.com

In the same spirit of reflection, I have been drawn to one book in particular: Learning to Love Midlife by Chip Conley. His reflections resonate deeply with both my research and my lived experience. He describes midlife as a long, beautiful marathon rather than a sprint. A phase where the goal is not to accumulate more but to deepen what we already have. Where understanding our emotions becomes a way to support ourselves. Where steady relationships hold us like an inner architecture. He invites us to stay in the race, to keep evolving, to not give up halfway. His words remind me that a meaningful life is shaped by quality, not only by quantity.

This journey has also revealed a new spiritual dimension for me. I am exploring a path that feels personal, not tied to a specific religion or doctrine. I no longer search for the best path. Instead, I draw from what I have studied and let it guide me with more freedom. I choose what feels true, what resonates with where I am now, what helps me feel the quiet spaciousness of the ocean inside me and a sense of connection with something larger than ourselves.

My children and I at the Jardin Botanique de Montréal.

This inner shift continues to shape my everyday choices. I travel more. Not to escape, but to bring beauty into my days and to take pauses from my routine. I know how easily I can overwork, and even short trips or small changes of place help me come closer to nature, the sea, art, and music. They help me slow down, breathe, be here, and feel that life is worth living in every moment.

If you are reading this, thank you for walking a little of this path with me. I hope these words offer a moment of reflection or simply the sense that we do not move through life alone. And if you ever need to share your own story, I am here to listen.