Think back, if you will, to the last time you were deprived of something that you love. When was the last time you lost something—temporarily—and realized just how much you loved it only when it was gone?
I’m not speaking about a grand, life-altering loss, but something simple. Your morning coffee. The ability to taste your favorite meal. Your voice.
These are aspects of life that are top of my mind right now because I just recovered from a rather nasty cold and sore throat, and for several days, I couldn’t sing. For someone who loves to sing—at all times in the day, and sometimes to the mild despair of her family—this felt like losing an important joy. I also couldn’t taste or smell much. Food was just texture, and my nose, it seemed, existed merely for decoration. When everything returned to normal, I felt an almost visceral wave of gratitude. That first spoonful of warm soup, the scent of my eucalyptus and mint body wash, the first tentative note of a song leaving my throat.. All these felt like small miracles. My “gratitude jar” entry that day practically wrote itself: I am grateful for the senses of smell, taste, and sound.
And that got me thinking…what if gratitude isn’t always something we need to practice through lists and affirmations (although these have been shown to have great benefits too), but something that can be revealed by the gentle act of doing without?
The Science of Losing (and Regaining)
Psychologists have long known that gratitude boosts well-being. A 2023 meta-analysis found that simple gratitude practices, like journaling or writing letters, lead to measurable, if modest, increases in happiness. What’s interesting, though, is that science also suggests that gratitude thrives on contrast.
When we experience temporary absence, be it the loss of a privilege, a sense, or even a familiar routine, our brains recalibrate. The return of what was missing activates reward circuits more strongly than usual. A contrast effect, let’s call it. It’s why that first sip of coffee after a fast tastes divine, or why music sounds richer after a period of silence.
This phenomenon is closely linked to hedonic adaptation, the tendency of our brains to get used to good things until they barely register. Intentional, temporary deprivation interrupts that cycle. It’s a way of “resetting” our hedonic baseline, reminding the brain that the ordinary is extraordinary.
Interestingly, there’s also evidence that awareness of absence or limitation can heighten gratitude. Studies on mortality salience—that is, being reminded of one’s mortality—show that when people reflect on life’s finitude, their sense of gratitude often deepens. Similarly, research on grief and loss has found that experiences of deprivation, even emotional or social, can lead to an increased appreciation of what remains (Springer, 2024).
Of course, this is not to say deprivation is always good. Extended or involuntary deprivation—poverty, isolation, chronic illness—doesn’t cultivate gratitude; it breeds stress. The key is intentional, temporary, and safe deprivation. Think of it as a mindful reset, not self-punishment.
How to Try It
If you’d like to experiment, try this small exercise I now call the 24-Hour Gratitude Reset:
- Pick one small pleasure. Something you love but can do without for a day—music, coffee, social media, dessert.
- Go without it for 24 hours. (Yes, that means no sneaky sips or scrolls.)
- When you resume, pause. Pay attention to the sensations, emotions, even the memories it evokes.
- Note your gratitude. Write down how it felt to have it back. Did you notice more joy than usual? Did it taste, sound, or feel better?
Chances are, you’ll find that the return, however small, feels surprisingly profound.
Rediscovering the Ordinary
Perhaps gratitude isn’t something we always cultivate by addition—by adding affirmations, lists, or mantras—but by subtraction.
By stepping away, briefly, from what we love most, we can return to it with fresh eyes, ears, and taste buds.
When my sore throat finally healed and I sang again, it felt almost like a celebration of biology. The vocal cords vibrating, air flowing through reawakened sinuses, neurons firing in rhythm…it was as though my body itself was saying, welcome back.
And so, today’s experiment in gratitude ends not in grand philosophy but in song.
Gratitude Essential Reads
To taste, to smell, to sing—three simple gifts I had to lose, if only for a few days, to remember how precious they are.