I am grateful for my perfect health.

Gratitude works best when it's specific, and specific means an inventory rather than a slogan.

So: the knees have been complaining on stairs lately. The eyes are fine. Digestion, unglamorous and entirely uncomplaining, has handled everything you threw at it this month without comment.

Almost nobody has a body where every line on the sheet reads clean. Perfect is less a state than a way of looking — counting what works at full weight, out loud, while whatever isn't working gets its own separate attention.