Thank, full

For:

the sound of pounding rain when I am safe inside • being in my mother’s home • the intimate knowledge of love • long sleeves that keep my arms warm; a vicious wind that helps me know I’m alive • my father’s hope that my life is happy • the ability to walk for long hours, outside • access to fresh food, clean water, choices about my life • the sound of my brother’s laughter and my sister’s laughter, especially when they are laughing so hard there’s no sound at all • my four-year-old nephew, who leans close to my face and tells me important things • my cousin’s perfect, secondhand lungs • the pure contentment of curling up in a chair and losing time to books • puppies who love me perhaps more than – or perhaps just as – I should be loved • the times I find my wild in the words I put on paper • the rekindled friendships with women who have known me since I was a girl • the kind smile of a person in Montreal when I hand her coffee • music that brings me peace or love or dances or joy • walking through woods made silent by redwoods or snow • my loving, honest partner who for almost a decade has made my life better • the opportunity and autonomy to forever continue learning • new friendships that are suddenly deep, old friendships that are continually steady • a passport with pages that are full and pages that are empty, waiting • traditions I continue, traditions I leave behind • Alvin Ailey, Vincent Van Gogh, Mary Oliver, Maya Angelou, and so many others whose art has crossed time and space • those who have introduced me to some part of myself I hadn’t yet known • being a bit player in children’s lives, watching them from the sidelines as they grow into themselves • the ability to speak my mind and the understanding that I don’t always have to • the awareness that an apology does not equal weakness • people who push me to be more, try more, do more • those who help me slow down, tuck in, let go • the winding trails through the parc des buttes-chaumont • money for what I need with enough left over that I can give it away • the hard-won acceptance of who I am and the desire to still know more • quiet spaces and deep conversations • you • today • sunrise • sunset • breath • kindness • the fact that I do not know where or how this list ever could end •

I have no need for anything more, and hope I continue to recognize all that I have, this day and every day of this sweet, confusing, wonderful, unbelievable life.