The week of Thanksgiving is upon us and life feels busier and crazier than ever.
The grocery aisles are packed, stores are preparing for the hordes of shoppers ready to storm their doors come Black Friday or even Thanksgiving night. I’ve had a fever for four days now. It’s been awesome (ha). No worries, just a good mixture of sinus infection/strep junk.
*Update: the fever has evacuated. Woot.*
I loooove Thanksgiving. Actually, this entire season has always been my favorite. The act of giving, friendship, family, twinkle lights, hot cocoa and apple cider, Christmas music, Christmas decorations. I love it ALL.
It does, however, bring me great sadness that as I have aged, a bit of magic seems to have evaporated from the holiday season. I’ve tried to pinpoint exactly when this happened. When the stresses and anxieties of life began piling higher than the joy I felt for this magical time.
I’ve also been thinking about the act of being thankful. And how it should be so tremendously easy to rattle off a million things to be thankful for. And guess what? It is. But then the dreaded guilt comes. Wtf is up with that?
I have a deep passion for many things. And I have a deep urge to do more with my life. Did you know that just over two weeks ago 26 young Nigerian girls were found drowned in the Mediterranean Sea? Investigators believe their deaths are related to sex trafficking.
How many men in positions of power have been exposed for their sexual abuse and misconduct in the past couple of weeks? Why is it so hard and scary to be a woman? Why did my mother never feel comfortable leaving us alone with members of the opposite sex when we were younger? Why do abuse and pain touch almost everyone?
Did you know last week Trump attempted to reverse a ban that would allow Americans to travel to Africa and bring home Elephant trophies? Let’s think about that. How small is your pecker that the only way it might grow a half inch or so is you putting a bullet through a majestic creature that happens to be endangered? I guarantee you tell the story of how mighty you felt sawing off an ivory tusk of a still breathing, still suffering animal to a room full of normal, non-big game hunting idiots, and you’ll be stared at with slow blinks and a shit ton of rage.
How many more people need to die in mass shootings before the government stops taking money from the NRA while on their knees? I’m all for responsibly owning a gun. I believe you should be able to protect yourself in your own home. But insane people are falling through the cracks. Why does anyone need to own an AR-15? Why is more not being done? I can’t hear another politician say, “Now is not the time to speak about politics.” Well, when is? The few weeks in between the last shooting and the next?
Phew, sorry, I blacked out a bit there. But shit, those are some of the things I have been thinking about lately. Which brings me back to the guilt.
I have a good life. A great one in fact. I have a roof over my head, a bed to lie in at night, an endless number of books to read, friends and family that love me. But still, we all suffer in our own way.
We lose a loved one. We suffer from anxiety and depression. We’re victims of abuse. We hate our bodies. Our bodies fail us. We’re infertile. We’ve had miscarriages. We don’t have a family. We have broken relationships.
I wish I could do more. I wish I could help the women in captivity escape their captors. I wish I could make people put down their guns. I wish I could change the evil in other hearts.
I’m trying, I really am. I write, and I write some more. I try to shake off the insecurities plaguing my soul and share my voice.
I’m thankful I have a voice. I’m thankful for the wonderful opportunity to write and share my stories. I’m thankful for the people that have supported my dream. I’m thankful for agents in London and assistants in New York that are fighting for me. I’m thankful for Thursday night writing meetings where dreams and fears are freely discussed. I’m thankful for love. I’m thankful I can give love. I’m thankful for cheesy Hallmark movies and creepy Mindhunter shows. I’m thankful for sweeping romance novels and page-turning thrillers. I’m thankful for my fluffy, sheds-too-much boyfriend, Gussy. I’m thankful for my mama’s wonderful cooking and the ridiculous fullness I will feel in a couple of days. I’m thankful for gut-burning laughter. I’m thankful for wine, because, wine. I’m thankful for our first home that is cute and adorable and has eighteen cracks in different corners and walls. I’m thankful for the beautiful Magnolia tree in our backyard. I’m thankful for my PCOS diagnosis and resultant infertility, because they taught me about strength and perseverance and that its okay to cry sometimes. I’m thankful for the modern medicine that saved my Dad’s life last month. I’m thankful for airplanes that will bring Caleb home to Texas for the first time in many years. I’m thankful for “Auntie come too?”, I’m thankful for bedtime goodnights where Jimmy gives me a different, silly (mostly ridiculous) nickname before falling asleep. I’m thankful for health, no matter how frustrating it can sometimes be.
I’m thankful for you, my friends and readers. For clicking, for reading or skimming, for always supporting.
I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving. I hope you allow yourself to put aside your heartaches and struggles for a few precious hours. I hope we all continue to do well for the world. And I’ll continue to hope that kindness will always win over hate.
Until next time,