My generation could learn a lot from Boomers about gratitude

It’s easy to forget to appreciate what we have. Yet what I’ve noticed from working at a cafe with an older demographic, or just talking to my grandparents, is how appreciative the older generation is.

My grandpa, Ray, grew up in tough circumstances, darkened by family mental health issues, but is the most appreciative person I know. We’ll be walking down the street, and randomly, he’ll say, “Well, aren’t we lucky?” Or we’ll be having a coffee, and mid-sentence will exclaim, “Well, isn’t this a gem moment”. And it is. It is a gem moment to be in the presence of someone so positive and grateful.

I’ve realised there’s much that can be learned from a generation that shows gratitude.Credit: Getty Images/iStockphoto

I admit I have a slight tendency to spiral into negativity. Why does my blood pressure spike when someone walks too slowly on the footpath? Or when I’m at work and a customer starts listing off five complicated modifications for their drink … before telling me what the actual drink is. I can’t put “extra hot, half almond, half oat, one pump vanilla, no foam” into the system if I don’t know it’s a cappuccino, Sharon. And don’t even get me started on people who don’t give a little wave when I let them through in traffic.

But I’ve come to realise that letting these little annoyances pile up every day does nothing but chip away at my quality of life. So it’s a pleasure to look for inspiration to a generation that seems to have mastered the art of finding joy in the simple things.

Take Anthony, one of my regular customers. He once told me that chatting with cafe staff “made his day”. My other grandpa, Sam, finds happiness in his daily gym visits. He often says how grateful he is just to have a body that moves, and how looking after it is his way of saying thank you. And then there’s Alex, another regular at my cafe, whose house my mum and I visited. In his living room, he had a shrine of photos dedicated to his granddaughter. He cherishes his family. These moments remind me that the small things aren’t so small after all – they’re the parts of life worth smiling about.

I’m grateful for thrift stores – and the volunteers who run them. There’s a certain thrill in finding a vintage blazer for $4.50 and convincing yourself it’s “actually designer”.

I’m grateful for the Flo app, which tracks menstrual cycles and reassures me that my emotional spiral is hormonal and not the beginning of a full-blown identity crisis.

I’m grateful for Robert Irwin. I don’t have a reason. I just think the world’s better because he’s in it.

I’m grateful for the massive, unforgiving pimple that disappeared exactly one day before my school formal – as if the universe knew I couldn’t emotionally handle both heartbreak and forehead acne at the same time.

I’m grateful for customers who clear their own plates without being asked. And even more so for the ones who laugh when I wrestle a cork bottle for three minutes straight instead of acting like I’ve personally offended their wine.

I’m grateful for friends who respond to my embarrassing stories with, “Oh no, I’ve got worse”, and then actually deliver. There’s a healing magic in shared humiliation.

I’m grateful for my cousin, who went out of her way to buy me a book and mail it with a thoughtful message after a recent break-up.

I’m grateful for the Melbourne Central escalators – abnormally fast, mildly dangerous, and the closest thing to feeling like I’m in a sci-fi movie during my daily commute.

I’m grateful for uni classes with the swivel chairs — because nothing says “engaged student” like spinning aimlessly while pretending to take notes.

Gratitude doesn’t always come naturally in a world built for rushing, scrolling, and comparing. But I’ve found that the people who’ve lived the longest often see the most clearly. That quiet, deliberate optimism is something I’m trying to carry with me.

It’s not about pretending everything’s fine. It’s about choosing to notice what is. The small, ordinary moments that slip past unless we’re paying attention.

I don’t have it all figured out. But I’m learning, slowly, to tune out the noise, look up, and like Grandpa Ray, say: “Well, isn’t this a gem moment?”

Lucia Frazzetto is a student in Melbourne aiming for a future in social work.

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