I don’t even know where to begin.
How about Gratitude? I’ll start there.
Thanks to God(s). I spent so much time, and still am, handing stuff uphill because it’s too big for me to carry by myself. I questioned God a lot in my youth; who knew that’s because I’d get older, and really need to know who I was dealing with? I would never have guessed, back then, that I would become such a theist, but there you go.
Thanks to Jason. Never was woman so blessed. He held it all together, and never once implied I was imposing. Thanks to Rowan for asking when I was coming home every time I talked to him. Thanks to Kestrel, for adapting so beautifully. And thanks to Marc, for enabling so smoothly.
Thanks to my redoubtable little Honda, who despite hating altitude, managed 0-60 in front of insane truckers. Thanks to the Nevada Highway Patrol, who pulled up, saw me crying, and didn’t pull me over despite the fact that I was breaking the hell out of the speed limit in their Silver State. Thanks to the jacks and cottontails, for being an interlude of cuteness in the desert. Thanks to the Harrier, who reminded me that death swoops in when it pleases, no matter how cute we may be.
Thanks to the people and books, over the years, who taught me to breathe. And to attend to my posture, because posture controls your attitude. Thanks to the people who’ve encouraged me to keep up with Yoga, so that I could do asana in hospital waiting rooms everywhere, and keep my calm from being damaged. Thanks to those who’ve taught me Compassion. Because when you have waited and paced and breathed and stood up straight and done Warrior II until your legs shake and you can’t do anything else, you can hold the space, and fill it with compassion. Compassion is a verb.
Thanks to Mom, for being the living epitome of Grace Under Fire.
Thanks to Bear, for giving me the opportunity, yet again, to expose all my fine ideals to the abrasion of the real world, so as to polish them up a bit.