[Verse 1]

[Verse 1] Perception’s slippery— Bends under expectations, comparisons, everything I wish I’d be. It lives between present and potential like a tug-of-war, And I get suspended in the middle, never touching the floor. But gratitude… that’s a counterweight. Not a “thanks” you throw away—an intentional kind of faith. A decision to notice what shaped me: People, moments, objects, lessons that saved me. And still—I’m addicted to doing. Creating, striving, struggling, proving. “If I just hit the goal, then it’ll be worth it,” So the chase gets loud and the present gets forfeited. Those tasks become kings—sovereign rulers of my attention, Each claiming the moment like it’s owed protection. Ambition sharpens the focus, turns my eyes into a scope— Always asking “what’s next?” while I miss what’s close. [Hook] I keep measuring distance like it’s meaning, Counting the gap like it’s truth I should believe in. But gratitude pulls me back when I’m drifting too far— Reminds me the process is part of the art. If ambition makes me sprint till I’m blind to the view, Then gratitude is the breath that tells me: “Look where you are, too.” [Verse 2] It’s like hiking a mountain— I’ll be real, I don’t even like it, I just like the “I did it” feeling. Every step demands focus—gravel under my boots, Balance on a thin line, hands ready in case I lose. And my mind goes tunnel vision—one foot, then another, Ignoring the burn in my legs, the weight, the grit in my socks like a bother. Flowers on the trail? Background. Fresh air? Background. Smiling passerby? Background— All noise in the pursuit of my crown. And I keep chanting the same promise like a prayer: “The view at the top will make this worthwhile, just get there.” And it does— I’ve stood on summits with pride in my chest, Equating hard work with arrival, like that’s when you’re blessed. But why is appreciation reserved for the peak? Why do I only get grateful when I finally reach? Every step had something—challenge, lesson, perspective, Even the missteps had value if I’m honest and I’m receptive. By locking meaning to the summit, I can see how much I’ve missed— Because the trail is where we live, not the highlight reel at the finish. [Bridge / Spoken Word] The trail holds most of the time. Most of the story. Most of the becoming. So if I only celebrate arrival… I’m skipping my own life. [Verse 3] What if gratitude is learning to bless the climb? Not just the trophy moment—right now, in real time. To name the gifts as they happen, not after they’re gone, To treat the small moments like sacred, not “later,” not “when I’m done.” Gratitude shifts the lens—turns the path into purpose, Turns the ordinary into something that can hold you when you’re hurtin’. Life doesn’t wait for the mountaintop— It’s unfolding in each step, each stumble, each breath we forgot. And the trail beneath my feet has as much wonder as the view above, If I’d stop sprinting for “enough” And start noticing what I already have, what I already