Thanks

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.

Single Parent Soapbox

Well, I always said this would be a blog about single parenthood, and for the most part, that has been the case. In regards to this post, it is most definitely the case, although it isn't a laughter-laced tale of something completely random that my children did, or the comedies that come along with the dating scene. No, this in reference to a far more serious topic. Money.

In just about any divorce, at least one, or even both parties take a serious financial hit. It is the nature of the beast. The divorce process itself is costly, and the price tag of getting back on one's feet is far from miniscule. Everyone has to learn to adjust, and if there are children involved, some have to adjust more than others. What was once an evening to dine out at your favorite restaurant now becomes a family-sized box of macaroni and cheese with Spongebob Squarepants annoyingly grinning up at you from the box. That yearly vacation you always took? Yeah, you'll be spending that money on school supplies, Halloween costumes, and a new washing machine (after you have clean worn yours out from the 25 loads of laundry you do every week-- by yourself).

Oh, and paying off the debt you have had to accrue as a result of said divorce? Yeah, you can forget about that, too, because the bank will take one look at your income, and laugh at you when you apply for a loan.

Look, I get it. Banks can only assume so much risk. Understandable. However, when they are looking at my financial information, and can see how much I comfortably pay each month on the debts that I have, and it is virtually the same amount as what I would be paying them each month on a loan payment that would eliminate that debt, and they still say no-- that, I don't understand. My goodness, a different bank just loaned me enough money to buy a house. This should not be rocket science.

So, here I am, a single working mom, who has always been smart with her money, trying to make yet another positive financial decision that will help get her recovering family ahead, and "back on their feet" following something none of us ever asked for, and the answer is "no". "Why," you may ask? Income. Not my credit (which I have worked very hard to keep squeaky clean). No, it's the fact that, according to their "magic formula", I don't make enough money.

Oh, but wait! Let's not forget that they have proof right in front of them that I have the money to comfortably make a payment each month. How does this even make sense?

Yes, here I am, a single working mom, attempting to be responsible and pay my dues, and I am being denied the opportunity to do that. How is this right? It is no wonder so many families have had to file for bankrupcy in recent years. The options to pay off debt, and pay it off responsibly, (if you don't make six-figures, anyway), seem to be few and far between. Short of winning the lottery, it is all but impossible to get credit cards paid off, given their current interest rates, which is another gripe entirely. Yes, let's punish the long-standing, loyal, responsible accounts with rising interest rates. That's just awesome.

I go to work every day. I pay my taxes. I obey traffic laws. I am ridiculously nice to people. I pay my bills on time. So yes, I am aggravated that my desire to continue my responsible path in life is being hindered over the fact that I am on a single income. What does the bank want me to do?-- Sell my soul and actually go out with one of these uptight, money-driven corporate guys who ask me out, and then get hitched in six months, just so I can tie another income to my application? Really? Sorry, but that's not going to happen, and yet I feel like I am being punished for making good life choices.

So yes, I am hacked at the system, and this is my brief soapbox moment. Does this mean I am throwing in the towel? Hardly. I mean, really-- when have I ever thrown in the towel?

Reflection

re-flect \ri-flekt\ vb

1 : to bend or cast back (as light, heat, or sound)  2 : to give back a likeness or image of as a mirror does  3 : to bring as a result  4 : to cast reproach or blame  5 : to ponder or meditate

Reflection is one of the most interesting concepts that we experience as human beings. It pushes our curiosity and exercises our minds. As infants, we become shocked with amazed bewilderment upon seeing our reflection for the first time. We perceive the image as another human being, and interract with it accordingly, making one of the very first social connections of our lives. As we get older and make our own choices-- both good and bad-- it sometimes becomes more difficult to "look at ourselves in the mirror" and we find ourselves reflecting our own faults and misgivings onto those around us, to make it easier to live with ourselves and our mistakes. If we are fortunate, as we make it further down the road, we have learned from our experiences-- both good and bad-- and begin to reflect on what we have learned, and what we still intend to channel or what we want to do differently in the future.

Reflections come at milestones, as epiphanies. They come during points of transition, as closure. Sometimes, they come as both. Tonight, I am lucky enough to experience both. As I close the door on yet another summer, I feel suspended. Not "suspended" as if I am floating from happiness (although I am quite excited about the new school year), but rather as if the usually-busy world around me is "on pause", and I am moving and turning, looking for that sign that will point me towards the road down which I am supposed to go. It's there. I know it is. That is why I feel suspended-- not frozen. It's there, and I will find it-- this much I know-- sometime between this moment and 8:30 tomorrow morning.

I sit here in bed, cross-legged, with a computer in my lap, and a bowl of incredibly tart, freshly-sliced peaches to my left, Puccini blaring from the speakers to my right, and for once, I am not sad that summer is over. That is not to say that it has not been a brilliant eleven weeks-- it has been. The last 80 days have held some of the most unexpected and enjoyable experiences that I have had in some time. New faces. New places. Late nights. Early mornings. The big. The small. Laughter. Tears. More laughter. And the list goes on. I am one lucky girl.

But I have grown bored. One could say that this comes from having eleven weeks "off", and that getting back on the horse will be the cure for what ails me, but this boredom feels different, somehow. It is not as if I "need something to do". Heaven knows that is never the case. No, tonight, in my pondering of the past eleven weeks, something has shifted. My focus. My hopes. My priorities. My tolerance. Something feels as though it is about to change, or maybe I am just willing it to, because I have no desire to continue down my current path. It has grown stale. So, here I am, sort of comically imagining myself standing in the middle of Boston Avenue, while everything in the city around me is frozen in time, just waiting for me to push "play".

It is, or at least it feels like, an epiphany and closure all at once. This chapter is closing-- the summer plotline, as well as others. They have served their purpose. I have learned what I needed to learn, and now I just feel like I am repeating myself. I am tired of the training wheels. So, whether it be while I sleep tonight, when I wake in the morning, or when I actually see the sun kissing the skyline of my once imaginarily-suspended city as I drive to work, I will spot a flickering neon arrow with my name on it, push "play", and like always, never look back. It's time.