Belated Thankfulness

In the wake of Teo's passing and under the smothering pressure of grad school applications, neither inspiration nor time has presented itself to a degree appropriate for creating new posts. I guess it's fitting, then, that I can't even write a Thanksgiving entry on time. But late trumps never, and late November always hands me the realization that I display too little gratefulness for a life which, despite its occasional strain and turbulence, remains essentially priveleged, fulfilling, and altogether rewarding.

And so, with that in mind, and with special attention to this (admittedly fairly difficult) year's developments, I am thankful for:

-- Reconnecting with home. When I left Providence, returning to Michigan seemed a death sentence. Now, after almost six months here, I've rediscovered the friendliness, pluck, and tenacity of Michiganders, the immense pride and affection we harbor for our dying city and the incredible hope we maintain for its resurrection, the unique slants of light and scents on the air that signify Southeast Michigan. These are the experiences that made me despair to leave five years ago, and I'm relieved to have found them again.

-- My job, and no longer feeling the pressure to justify holding such a job. Working in retail may fall outside the confines of acceptably prestigious entry-level jobs for graduates of purportedly elite colleges, but it's no cause for self-pity. I have a schedule that allows me to care for the horses in the morning and work on my applications at night and a paycheck that covers equine and personal expenses. I've met some fantastic people with some amazing stories, none of whom I would know had I not taken this job.

-- My horses, who anchor me in sanity and comfort when all else falls away and leaves a wake of bleakness and desperation. Now that Teo is gone, I am all the more thankful for the nine years I had with him; it is increasingly evident that no horse will ever match him in steadfastness and personality. And it brings me joy to think that Shwy, my first horse whom I've had for nearly 15 years, acts much younger than his 25 years and will hopefully remain with us for quite awhile yet.

-- My family. Despite our splintered state and moderately tense undercurrents, we manage to reunite each holiday for an ultimately enjoyable time. Our gatherings may resemble absurdist drama, but we somehow retain our senses of humor throughout. I owe an especially large debt of gratitude to my mother, for tirelessly supporting my education and never once questioning my choice of career, and for not turning me out on my ear, no matter how many times my holy-terror adolescence tempted her to do so.

-- My friends, both old and new. I often speak of my "friend family," and last week's trip East reaffirmed my faith in that concept. I will never, ever find another group of kindred spirits quite like my residential college compatriots, and my Providence friends will always remain my favorite artistic community. Moreover, longtime and new-found friendships here at home promise to brighten the interminable Michigan winter. I truly have no excuse for loneliness when I'm so lucky to be surrounded by so many luminous individuals.

-- Music and lyrics. Whether I'm practicing violin or guitar, belting out Mountain Goats songs on a road trip, basking in John K. Samson's lyrical genius, or absorbing the unparalleled communal experience of witnessing a favorite band or artist in concert, music occupies an appreciable portion of every day I live. It comforts sadness, focuses rage, enables memories, augments joy, and imparts wisdom. I organize my life by artists and albums: this year, I suffered through Providence's winter to Bon Iver's Blood Bank, danced through spring to Born Ruffians and Harlem Shakes, studied summer away to Sunset Rubdown's Dragonslayer, and grieved for Teo to the Mountain Goats' Life of the World to Come (particularly "Matthew 25:21," the first song ever to drive me to unfettered sobbing). As a hypersensitive, deeply emotive, vaguely neurotic individual, I am deeply grateful that music offers me such catharsis and support, and am infinitely thankful for my own ability to create it.

-- Simple pleasures. For each of the above major life elements, there exist dozens of small joys that defy classification within those parameters. I experience them frequently, yet consciously appreciate them far too little, so I list them here, now, if ever my future self should forget their soul-healing power:

long drives, strong hugs, waking without alarms, late-night conversations, pumpkin spice lattes, breathtaking sunsets, uncontrollable side-aching eye-watering laughter, autumn foliage, the smell of horse, the smell of bonfires, cranberry-walnut-goat cheese salads, truly good coffee, truly buttery croissants, Ken's fries, Rudy's frites, smiles from strangers, cuddles from my cats, trips to the driving range, red wine, college towns, excellent iPod shuffle streaks, comfortable mattresses, Altoids, my mom's cooking, Mad Men, peppermint tea, Sweet Juniper, Ontario, Canada in general, social networking and other keeping-in-touch methods, and waking every day to general good health and food and clothing and shelter.