Before it became a moral virtue or a religious value, gratitude was a tool for social cohesion. Primitive communities survived through reciprocity: if someone shared food or shelter, a symbolic debt was created. To give thanks was to acknowledge that debt without violence or trade— a way of saying: I remember what you did for me.

Over time, religions turned gratitude into a spiritual act. The Greeks thanked their gods; Christians thanked God; agricultural peoples thanked the earth. In every case, to give thanks meant to recognize dependence.

Arrogance, in contrast, was the forgetting of that bond. When you give thanks, you admit that something was given to you—that not everything depends on you— that gratitude carries a trace of faith, even when no god is named.

Anchored to Life

A little over a year ago, I began journaling through the Bullet Journal method, which includes the daily practice of gratitude. For me, gratitude has become a way to anchor myself to life. In the fast rhythm of work and digital connection, we often live beyond time and space—planning, remembering, imagining.

Gratitude, instead, brings me back to reality, like a small anchor that, despite its size, can hold an entire ship in place. That instant of awareness can mean the difference between a hollow routine and a conscious, purposeful process.

In Mexico, we don’t have a Thanksgiving Day, but we do have moments that serve the same purpose: Christmas, New Year’s, a family meal—moments where, beyond professions or beliefs, we remember that we are people, and we are family. Gratitude ties us back to that truth.

A Glass Raised to Purpose

For me, gratitude doesn’t happen as a rational choice—it arrives as a surprise.

It happens when I find myself enjoying my work, when I see my three-year-old daughter smile, when I taste the food my wife prepared, or when I remember that both my parents are alive and healthy. Those moments stop me in my tracks. To ignore them would be to waste life itself, because everything we do—deep down—is for those moments.

This past year with PKGD has been full of them. Working in a place where I can exercise my creativity and passion for cinematography, lead a team, and stay close to the world of agave has been a gift. Each project, each trip, each conversation with a producer brings me back to that quiet sense of gratitude that settles into the body like a deep breath.

To live this way—to provide for my family, to build something with purpose and community—is a privilege. And like every gift, it carries a debt—not to anyone in particular, but to life itself. Saying thank you is not a courtesy; it’s a necessity of the soul.

I raise my glass to my family, my colleagues, my partners, to the producers and brands we work with—to Mexico and the United States, who—as neighbors and friends—keep learning to live and be grateful together.

The future is bright.