The little things.

9 10 2017

I’ve been immersed in gratitude this weekend. Like most people I know, we have more than enough to be thankful for. And this weekend is ripe for expressing it, showing our deep thanks and recognizing the blessed lives we lead. For many, we were surrounded by family and friends and copious amounts of food. As the autumn sunlight streamed through windows, lighting up the tables set to celebrate our abundance, it made me think about the little things, the not-so-easy things to be thankful for.

I am thankful for this gentle appreciation I have for my aging. While I joke about the crinkles and eyebags and my deep fear of a neck wattle with my dearest of friends, fantasizing about Botox and mini-lifts, I truly wouldn’t have it any other way. While my skin folds in on itself, and the age that I amĀ  is reflected in the face I present to the world, I find myself discovering a beauty I wouldn’t have dreamed of admiring a mere ten years ago. I breathe my age in and exhale my thanks out. For this only means that I am still fortunate enough to be here, to live and find joy and have arguments and walk my dog along a forest path.

I give thanks for my restless mind, who prowls about at 2 am. Who fosters self-doubt and worry and strife, but who also reigns in senseless fretting and whispers gentle realities to myself. Don’t worry so much I tell myself and I agree. I listen and it says: You are loved. You are loved.

I am deeply grateful for my decades of dealing with depression and chronic pain and the dark dance I shared with thoughts of suicide so many times. It was indeed as scary as it sounds but in a lovely way, it afforded me more self-knowledge that I could have ever imagined. My cognizance of my frailty has made me stronger. And letting go of my fear of talking about it has gifted me the strength of being there for others. Raw honesty is as healing as honey drizzled in a cup of tea. One sip and you feel it cascading into your body, spreading it’s warmth and love to every cell.

I am indebted to experiencing hate and jealousy. In allowing myself to mirror the beauty of love and kindness through contempt and resentment, I think that I’ve only become more appreciative of my own bounty. And learning how these two distasteful emotions can be used to guide me towards a better understanding and a deeper compassion is seeing that light turned onto me. How bitter I was and relieved my soul was when I found I could let it go. My life certainly isn’t perfect. And by no means will I be able to stop coveting entirely. But learning to step back and trying to see the foolishness of my insecurities is akin to peeling off layers of wet and uncomfortable clothing. Discarded on the floor, I stand bare and tender, more willing to let the negative dissipate.

I am thankful for so much. Today, though, my gratitude is for the little life lessons we are gifted every day, these hidden jewels around us, offering us ways to better our own true selves and walk a sweeter path.

Many blessings to you all, this Thanksgiving weekend.

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What I meant to say….

3 10 2017

So I saw a fat bear today, if you saw my facebook post.

I caught a glimpse of the rolliest-poliest black bear I ever saw. She was standing at the foot of someone’s driveway, just after the “thrill hill” at 9 Mile. (Nelson peeps, you know where I mean…) Just standing there, all podgy and chubby, with a complacent look on her face. A contented look, belly full of fish and apples, I’d suppose. Her legs ridiculously small in comparison to her girthy roundness.

Just the sight of that bear made me feel all good and shit. I just laughed and held that odd joy in my heart for a good portion of my drive home.

After dinner tonight, I caught an interview with the daughter and husband of one of the human lives lost in Vegas. Married between my tears and grief for their loss was my confusion, admiration and (admittedly) a wee bit of astonished revulsion that they were able, capable and brave enough to speak on world wide TV about their experience, their heart-stopping loss. I was left feeling obviously bereft. Silent. Just utterly stooped in my inability to absorb such a tragedy.

Then that fat old bear popped into my head.

I thought of her pale muzzle, so like any old bear I’ve seen. Sniffing the air, her eyes too dim to catch anything far away. Belly almost grazing the ground. Her rear end, comical with that odd tuft of a tail sticking out. Front paws slightly turned in.

That chubby ursus americanus didn’t care about guns and loss of life and mind-fucking rage of the horrific nature of humans. That fuzzy-wuzzy ball of GRRRRRRRR gave zero shits about Trump and his heart-aching lack of human compassion and even less shits about how much we all hate him.

And amidst our grief and sadness these last couple days, I realized why that damn bear made me so happy. That lucky shit is completely oblivious of the utter terrible-ness that is going on in the world. Why, that bear has a belly full of yummmmmm and is almost ready to sleep on and off for the next six months. That lucky asshole. So yes, I smiled when I thought of her. And I realized why… There’s a part of me that wishes I could just be that bear. To learn how to be. To only just be.

And to let others just be as well.