gratitude-a-thon day 1026: that and this

Even in the darkness, there are places that the light fights its way through. I’m going to stand in those sunny spots, but remember the darkness around me, as I do.

It’s a perfectly sunny morning. Nothing like a perfectly sunny morning after a week of rain. Damp, cold, miserable, car-drenching-you-while-you’re-walking-the-dog rain. Today is fat and happy with possibility. Thoughts of window boxes, and patio furniture and whether I can show my arms this season, or not.

And then I remember about Syria. And that bat shit crazy Assad person who is satan’s younger more handsome brother and I think, you can’t be happy today because there is this.

And I sit and wonder. I wonder if I shouldn’t allow the sun up in the sky to let me be grateful today that I am not living in Syria under a dictator who is so evil he can kill a perfect little baby. I wonder if I should cover my face and allow the Hitler-esque horror to fill me and render me useless today.

I choose instead to be in this present moment, in my present reality, and allow the sunlight in, while cradling those people in my heart. I will carry the man who lost his twins and wife, with me today as I walk in the sunlight. I will try and telecommunicate my oneness with him, let him know he is with me, as another human who can feel the tip of a pinkie of his pain, who honors the hell he is currently living in.

I will do that, and this. I will make room for both. Probably not without periodic guilt, but I will try to honor them by living today, inside the space of the sun.

gratitude-a-thon day 578: sun day


It is the most uncomplicated things that can find their way to the top of your gratitude list. Gratitude need not be grand. Although I think you could say the act of noticing small things, is actually pretty grand.

I have been sick this week, with some sort of gross stomach horror show, and a kind of fatigue that is so thick, I feel like I could sleep for 182 lifetimes, and then some. My Facebook query seemed to confirm that there is indeed a virus going around that invades your stomach and head, and makes you feel like a hibernating bear. I always like to know that I’m not dying, that there is some Ick crawling around my neighborhood, that other people also have. If I had to guess I would venture out to say that it could be a flu scientifically created by Charmin or Scott tissue, because can I tell you how much toilet paper I’ve had to use. Ok, we’re on the precipice of TMI. DO NOT PANIC, I’ve stabilized.

Anyway, while sprawled out on my bed yesterday, knowing I was not infected with something that was going to kill me, but half wishing I could possibly die on account of how horrible I felt, I noticed the full on sun streaming through my window. It seemed like 22  of those Hollywood premier lights must be pointing at my house. The brightness against my white curtains was blinding. In the best way possible. I just sat for a moment, with my gurgling stomach as background music, and my hair sticking up in all the directions a compass has to offer, and smiled. In that moment, I was so grateful for the bright, lightness, of that sun, I felt reborn (my stomach, not so much). Its life-affirming smile filled my room. And damn, it was good.