If you count all your assets, you always show a profit. (Robert Quillen)
I am grateful for greatness yet to be realized. How boring would it be if I had done all that there was for me to do? Or explored all there was for me to discover? Where I am now, I can always look forward to more.
I hope that I will always be filled with giddy anticipation of what’s to come and steady appreciation of what is.
I am grateful knowing that all that is marvelous about my life cannot be contained in one moment. My blessings and gifts are infinite.
I’ve been exposed. Caught with petty cash surreptitiously pocketed after I puffed at everyone about how upstanding I am.
Eliot Spitzered. No amnesty. Breaking News: I am the crazy person I hide behind snickers and sarcasm. The one that breaks apart with each unanswered, unreturned call. The one whose everything hinges upon meager morsels of attention, twisting each moment with you into Nirvana.
I do try. I’m the one that never calls too often and acts like it’s no sweat. I’m the one that stays busy, a blip here and then there. You won’t find me anywhere too long beyond what is welcome. Right?
Truth is that I am uncool. Goofy when it’s harmless. Frightening when I lose footing. I’m terrified of being seen with my love hanging out.
I know. I’m fooling no one but myself. Everybody knows. Now. I got caught loving, longing, dancing well after the music stopped.
We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. (Thornton Wilder)
I am grateful for finally being able to look into the mirror and cast flaws into the wind, thoroughly enjoying the woman I am. I often admire the symmetry of sweaty shoulders and waist perfect for me. I am grateful that I can completely be delighted with all that I see in my reflection so that when you look at me I can glitter back and wink. “Yes, dear. I know. I fell in love with her first.”
As someone who blogs quite sporadically, I’ve had to take a moment or two and contemplate why I do this. Why do I write and why here?
I write so that I don’t become one of the dull-eyed people, nodding nearly to the ground that you see all over this city. Some are obvious addicts who just got a hit but there are many who touch no drugs but find themselves deadening to make it through. I choose neither, so I write.
I write because my pen still loves you. It holds onto our memories more steadfastly than my cluttered mind. It strokes the side of your face to life and dips into your kisses for ink. The pen never lets that dream disintegrate. I can visit again and again begging for one more. The pen always complies, so I continue to write.
I write because I often choke on my truth. It burns my chest seeking its release. I write of the permanent stain left without a glimpse back. Somewhere someone reads and it may not be that who but someone knows. In the writing, there is that solace.
I write to be known. To be held here in some way. To be had here in that way. To have here in this way. Here, someone can almost hear me scream, laugh, sigh and may care. I write here because breathing is not enough.
Hem your blessings with thankfulness so they don’t unravel. (Unknown)
Today is short and sweet. I am grateful today and every day. This is my reminder to myself and maybe you that I/we need to count my blessings every day lest they abandon us.
Today I am grateful for the ability to move my body with little to no hindrance. The ability to move, express and experience joy through my body is today’s greatest delight. I acknowledge this now before I ever have to lament it being missing.