Crisscrossed lines. The signature of frantic tires. A clear, heavy seriousness soaks into the moment. On an empty stretch of backcountry road, it is easy to be grateful. You can see the story scrawled on the asphalt—a car careening toward a ditch. The parallel cursive ends where the gutters begins. Clouds glide by as if on silver platters. A maple leaf stretches into the atmosphere.

At first glance, there are no signs of damage on the earth. But looking closer, a tree has grown over its splinters. Defiantly alive after impact. And yes, more details: a small triangle of asphalt near the end of the cursive, gone from the rest of the road; new wire on one section of the simple metal fence, a fence post kinked at an odd angle. A bird tweets.

The space of other people’s pain sends a warm wash of relief through your body. It’s as if the car crash happened in some distant universe. Drama on an orbiting moon.

Here, you reflect terrible events, emerging unscathed. There’s a peace in seeing terrible events from afar, but it’s vampiric. One can’t forever live in gratitude only through other people’s pain.

If one isn’t aware of the benefits mindfulness can offer, one might shoehorn it into one’s regular thought pattern: “Thank goodness that didn’t happen to me.” It’s easy to use mindfulness as a tool to deepen your already worn habits. But mindfulness isn’t laced with cynicism. There’s no how-unlucky-you-are feeling involved. Mindfulness is compassion. Joy. Acceptance. Gratitude for precious life.

The car crash, the house fire, the broken window—use mindfulness as a vehicle for gratitude. Not gratitude that you weren’t involved, but gratitude that you get to experience the world at all.