A honest attempt at giving thanks

It’s hard to feel thankful right now, when my worldview is so cynical and depressed and afraid, but it’s Thanksgiving and I thought it might help to try.

I’m thankful for a healthy child, who’s learning to string words into sentences.  Who dances with me, and who takes the job of putting dirty clothes in the hamper very seriously.

I’m thankful for my husband, who is there to hold me when I cry and who makes the best green bean casserole in America.  Who insists that he isn’t brave, but is.

I’m thankful for my parents—thankful that they are alive and well, thankful that we figure each other out a little more each year, and thankful that they took the news of their son-in-law’s gender identity with grace and love.

I’m thankful for the quiet peace of the sunrise on my run this morning.

I’m thankful for my legs and my lungs that let me run, even if they sometimes falter.

I’m thankful for the way the winter sun shines bright on my face when I’m at the kitchen sink.

I’m thankful for iTunes, for portable music players, and for the aux cable in my car.

I’m thankful for this house, for its space and its light, for the park across the street, and for our generally wonderful landlords.

I’m thankful that I’ve got another paper under review at a journal, bringing me one step closer to finishing my PhD.

I’m thankful for the friends I’ve made over the years, who pop up to check on me when I least expect it.

I’m thankful for the folks I only know online, for smart conversations and shared righteous anger and links to all kinds of new and interesting things.

I’m thankful for cups of tea and glasses of wine.

I’m thankful for all the superhero shows on the CW, because they bring me laughter and hope.

I’m thankful that I get to spend this year’s Thanksgiving in a T-shirt and sweatpants, with no stress and no small talk.

I’m thankful that I don’t have to worry about the money for little things, at least for now.

I guess maybe I feel thankful after all.

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