I am grateful for all that money brings me.

Look up from wherever you are sitting. The chair was bought. So was the light, the floor, the mug going cold beside you, the coat by the door that has kept eleven winters off your back.

Gratitude about money usually goes to the large items — the deposit, the car — and skips the accumulated small ones, which is where nearly all of it actually went. Nothing in that room arrived by magic. Somebody worked and somebody paid, and for most of it, that somebody was you.