It’s that time of year when we all (hopefully) take a moment to think about all we are grateful for. It’s a time of year when we pause and take stock of what brings a smile to our face, what gives us sustenance in one form or another, what keeps us going. I hope that we all came up with many things to be thankful for. I hope that we not only recognized, but truly appreciated, all that has been bestowed upon us.
I wish that we did this more than once a year, and perhaps some of us do, but I know that I don’t. I do go through spurts of appreciation, moments of gratitude. I try to look on the bright side, to see the silver lining. This isn’t always possible, but I know that it is possible to focus our attention on what matters more than what doesn’t. This long weekend reminded me of this, to focus my attention on the present, to hone in on the brightness and the light.
Though I don’t want kids (which many of you know; or you can read about it here), they are a great reminder to be present, to laugh and play, to just simply stand in wonder. Spending time with my niece and nephew on Thanksgiving reminded me of this, of the simple beauty in this world. These two little people gave me pause, made me stop and think about not only how miraculous they are, but how miraculous life in and of itself is.
It’s miraculous that my one-year-old niece says “Auntie” and “Love you” now. It’s miraculous how funny my three-year-old nephew is. They just say whatever it is that’s on their minds. They are kind, crazy, sweet. I could listen to them all day. They both have so much personality, so much curiosity and wonder for the world. Their wonder revives my own, shifts my perspective, gives me clarity. The simple fact that we are here is wonder enough, not to mention that I get to be an auntie to these little humans, these pockets of giggles and tears.
Not only do I get to be an auntie, but I also get to be a sister and a daughter. As we held hands around the table to give thanks, I looked around me and smiled. My sister, who makes me so very proud, who makes me want to be a better person, was on my left. My brother-in-law, who works so hard to provide for his family, and his son, the class president at his school, to my right. My niece chatting with herself in her highchair beside my sister. Laughter coming from the living room where my mom, who reminds me to pursue my passions, who has always placed value in language and art, was playing with my nephew. I was so grateful.
The wonder of it all continued to strike me after my day with my family. The day after Thanksgiving I did yoga in my living room in the morning light before going out to the coast with a friend. The drive was beautiful, winding wet roads and rolling green hills. Redwood trees and glimmering water. I remarked how amazing it is that we live in a place this gorgeous. After we parked we got coffee and sat outside amid the frigid beauty, the water glinting silver and gray, black birds hopping across the lush wet grass. When it got too cold we went back inside the cafe to find a corner where we could continue talking.
We talked about life and death, friendship and loss, relationships, school, family. I had never spoken with this friend in this way before; we had never really had the opportunity to talk as we did in that moment, just the two of us. It was a moment. A moment where I paused and was grateful. I was grateful for the warmth of the cafe, the coffee I was drinking, the company of this friend I suddenly knew. I felt like she let me know her more than before, and I appreciated it. She reminded me that vulnerability is a kind of strength.
Then yesterday I found myself pausing in another moment of gratitude. I was thankful for a different friend of mine, and not just because she cooked me breakfast and drove us to San Francisco (she’s amazing). I was grateful for her no-nonsense sweetness, how she does not mince words but is still inherently thoughtful. I was thankful for her companionship and our friendship, which has just grown and grown over the years. She’s the kind of friend where you can sit without talking and it’s not awkward. That’s pretty rare. I appreciated how opinionated she is without being rude; she knows who she is and what she likes and doesn’t like and will let you know. She reminded me of the beauty in just being yourself.
There is beauty in just being yourself, in being vulnerable, in being childlike with wonder. Some may see these actions as weak, but I know that these actions make you more resilient. If you are fully yourself, you become your own anchor in a chaotic sea. If you are vulnerable, you create stronger relationships, including with yourself. If you are silly with glee, you make the world a brighter place to live. I am grateful for these actions. And I am even more grateful for the friends and family who remind me of this, of the brightness and the light.
I wish you a wild, free life.