For weeks now, I have seen the daily Facebook posts made by people, declaring what they were thankful for on that day. I suppose that when we roll around to the month of November, our minds automatically switch over into "Thanksgiving mode", and perhaps it causes us to stop and think about how fortunate we are, a little more than we usually do. Although it was not something I participated in, it was an interesting concept to observe.
Rewind, and I can say that the days during my divorce were, quite possibly, the darkest days of my life. It was difficult to find hope or silver lining in much of anything, because as I saw it then, my world was falling apart around me. Every negative emotion that can be experienced by a human being, I felt like I was shouldering, a hundred-fold. Getting out of bed was difficult. Focusing, even more difficult. Smiling, impossible. And forget about laughter. It just didn't exist.
Until one morning, feeling as though I was anchored beneath the covers, I made a choice. I would start my day, thankful. Sure, I basically wanted to curl up into a ball and die, but there had to be something about my life that day that warranted a little gratitude. Something positive. Something to look forward to. So, I started the habit of waking up with the thought of something I was thankful for that day. It didn't have to be Earth-shattering, dignified, or newsworthy, but it was at least a beacon that would keep me from crashing into something that day. I have done it nearly every day since then.
Fast-forward, and I can say that I am fortunate. I know that. There isn't a day that goes by that I am not aware of it, and absorbing it. When you have had everything taken away from you, taking things for granted becomes a near-impossibility. Sometimes I think that is part of why I "see" things the way I do-- finding beauty in an oil spot in a parking lot, or the repeated pattern of rusted metal fence posts. I find it difficult to discount things, no matter how "everyday" they may seem.
So as I stand here in my dark kitchen, listening to the rain splashing outside of my windows, sipping on some mystery coffee (on which the jury is still out), smelling Mighty Mo on my shirt from when he sat in my lap earlier, I am thankful.
I am thankful that I am even standing in this kitchen. My kitchen. My house. I am thankful for when the kids belt out the wrong words to a song. For furry dog lips. For sunlight and starry skies. For strawberry jam. For the smell of clean sheets. For the strum of a guitar and the wail of a violin. For colors. For inside jokes. For love. For views that leave me speechless. For contrast. For being able to rest my cheek against my Grandma's kitchen table in a few days. For inspiration. For hours on the road. For when the dogs snore. For wanting to make a difference. For new people. For old people. For the sound of spinning bicycle wheels. For falling leaves. For watching the kids' faces in the movie theater. For the city skyline. For my job. For art. For telescopes. For superheroes. For romance. For tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. For toothless grins and giggles. For neighbors who actually talk to each other. For winning and for losing. For a good night's sleep. For births. For deaths. For watching people achieve their goals. For honesty. For the smell of a new pair of Chucks. For exploring. For believing. For still getting excited when I run across an earthworm or a ladybug or a toad in my garden. For the way the light hits the pedestrian bridge in the evening. For hot water. For the power of human touch. For windows. For surviving. For days by myself and for the days when I'm not. For Chinese take-out. For not having to ask permission. For nights that don't end. For the sound of the school bus and the smell of crayons. For energy that is tangible. For peace of mind. For never growing up. For cramp-inducing laughter. For time.
But most of all, I'm just thankful for being thankful.
