Waypoints: 30 Days of Gratitude

This month, Moteventure turns its compass toward the quiet power of thankfulness. Waypoints: 30 Days of Gratitude is a daily storytelling journey through resilience, grace, and the moments that anchor us. Each post will be a marker — a pause along the path — where gratitude reveals itself in unexpected ways. From small gestures to life-altering kindness, these stories invite reflection, connection, and a deeper appreciation for the light we find (and share) along the way.

Every path has its waypoints. If gratitude lit yours, leave a note beneath this post.

The Teacup on the Train

In the spring of 2006, a woman named Hana boarded a train from Kyoto to Tokyo. She was carrying a small box wrapped in cloth — inside was a porcelain teacup, hand-painted with plum blossoms. It had belonged to her grandmother, who had passed away the week before.

Hana was quiet, grieving, and unsure what to do with the cup. It wasn’t valuable, but it had been part of every childhood visit, every story told over tea. She planned to leave it at her grandmother’s favorite temple — a quiet offering.

But somewhere between stations, the train jolted. The box slipped from her lap. The teacup shattered.

She gathered the pieces, heartbroken. A man across the aisle — older, dressed in a simple suit — watched silently. When the train stopped, he approached.

“I know a place,” he said. “If you’d like.”

They walked together to a small shop tucked behind a row of cherry trees. Inside, shelves of broken pottery gleamed with gold. It was a kintsugi studio — the Japanese art of repairing ceramics with lacquer and powdered gold, honoring the breakage as part of the object’s history.

The man paid for the repair. “She loved it,” he said. “So now it will carry both of you.”

Weeks later, Hana returned to the shop. The cup was whole again — its cracks traced in gold like rivers. She placed it at the temple, but kept the lid off the box. “Let the light in,” she whispered.

Gratitude doesn’t always come from what remains untouched. Sometimes, it’s found in what breaks — and in the hands that help us mend.