The other day, as I waited for my wife to collect her coffee from a café, I found myself grumbling under my breath. My shoes — old, scuffed, and a little too tight — had been rubbing my heels raw all morning.
I’d been meaning to replace them for weeks, but between lectures, meetings, and the endless emails that multiply like rabbits, it just hadn’t happened. “Why can’t I just have a decent pair of shoes?” I muttered, half to myself, half to the universe.
Then I remembered a quote I saw while scrolling through Instagram stories: “I cursed the fact I had no shoes until I saw the man who had no feet.” Funny how a few words — probably from some unknown source (you can’t believe everything you see online these days) — can stop you in your tracks on a busy Monday morning.
Gratitude, I realised, isn’t just a nice-to-have — it’s fundamental.
It’s the lens that sharpens our blurry view of what truly matters, cutting through the noise of what we think we lack.
I’ve spent enough time on social media to know how easy it is to fall into the trap of comparison. We see someone’s shiny new car, their perfect holiday photos, or their effortlessly stylish wardrobe (with shoes that probably never pinch!), and suddenly our own lives feel dull. But gratitude isn’t about measuring our lives against someone else’s highlight reel. It’s about looking down at our own two feet — shoes or no shoes — and realising they’re still carrying us forward.
This isn’t a new idea. Rumi, the timeless poet, once wrote, “Wear gratitude like a cloak, and it will feed every corner of your life.” I love that image — a cloak, warm and enveloping, woven not from what others have, but from what we choose to see in our own hands. It’s a quiet rebellion against a world that keeps telling us happiness lies just beyond the next purchase or promotion.
Years ago, as a young lecturer, I learnt this lesson the hard way. I’d just started at Universiti Malaya and was obsessed with keeping up — more publications, more funding, more recognition. My desk was a chaos of papers, my inbox a battlefield, and my mind a tangle of “not enough.” One afternoon, a senior colleague pulled me aside. “Adib,” he said, peering over his glasses, “you’re running so fast you’ve forgotten to look where you’re standing.” He was right. I had shoes — metaphorically speaking — but I was too busy envying everyone else’s to notice.
That moment shifted something in me. I started small, jotting down three things each day I was thankful for. A good cup of kopi C kosong. A student’s “aha!” moment in class. The smile of that cleaning staff I passed every morning on the way to the office. It wasn’t grand, but it was mine. And slowly, that gratitude began to reframe my days.
The Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius put it beautifully: “What we do now echoes in eternity.” It’s a humbling thought — every small act of appreciation, every pause to acknowledge what’s needful, builds the person we become. Gratitude isn’t passive; it’s active. It’s the discipline of watering your own plot of grass instead of gazing longingly at someone else’s.
You see, needful isn’t about having more; it’s about seeing enough. My shoes might be worn, but they got me to work, to my students, to my family. And that’s what matters.
So here’s my challenge to you, wherever you’re reading this: Pause today and look at your own “shoes.” Not the ones on your feet, but the things you’ve been taking for granted — your health, your relationships, that quiet moment with your morning coffee (or teh tarik). Write down one thing you’re thankful for — not because it’s better than what someone else has, but because it’s yours. Then tomorrow, add another.
Gratitude doesn’t erase life’s blisters — literal or otherwise — but it reminds us we’re still walking. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to keep us going.
Professor Ir Dr Nahrizul Adib Kadri is a professor of biomedical engineering and the Principal of Ibnu Sina Residential College, Universiti Malaya.
The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer and do not necessarily represent that of Twentytwo13.
