Originally posted 11.29.2004
It’s appropriate here to take a moment or two and reflect on the year. For me, Thanksgiving has always been more of a New Year than January 1st; though not so much a beginning as an end.
This perception is shaped, of course, by my geographical spot on the map. If I’d grown up in the tropics, I don’t know how I’d measure the passage of time. Late autumn is a natural though, here in the northern states, for slowing down, going dormant, saying good-bye to the buzz and activity of sensible creatures as they slip underground to wait out the dark months.
This year has been more gentle to me than recent past years. Although my income has yet to bump the bottom edge of the poverty line, it’s substantially greater than it was last year, and most of it was generated from the work that I actually came here to do, as opposed to last year, when my slim checks were written by temp agencies in exchange for droning hours playing receptionist in one blank building after another. This year, no one in a work setting called me “that temp,” or asked if I was actress. There is now an increasingly thick stack of medical newspapers and other media on my bookshelf containing articles with my byline and guest editorials written by people who were compelled to comment on stories I wrote. I’ve got four features in the works for the rest of the year, and a topic that promises to become a series in the new year. No steady paycheck or health insurance yet, but I am, for all intents and purposes, back in the game, as queasy as that sometimes makes me feel.
Health is good, something I should always take the time to thank my lucky stars about. (Especially without health insurance.) The left knee is crunchier than ever (I’m surprised my approach doesn’t frighten small children), but it doesn’t hurt and it supported me through a fine season of team competition, culminating in the marathon. More importantly, running became more than ever an important connecting agent this year: it found me new friends, enlarged my community, and brought me into circumstances where I was able to some work (and get paid). As much as I enjoy yoga, it’s never brought me close to people the way running has, and I am grateful for the combination of genetics and determination that grant me the ability to keep running.
Of course, thanksgiving for me, as it is for most people, is all about the people who’ve been there for me. My family, my roommate, my Saturday morning crowd, the folks at the Tea Lounge, the bluegrass community and other musicians, the friends in Wisconsin who make sure I know I’m not forgotten, my editors and coworkers at McMahon and Road Runner, my writer friends: to all of you, my undying gratitude. Without your support, your laughter and ideas, your encouragement and commiseration, my life would be utterly blank and unbearable. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank the universe for causing our paths to cross.
Namaste.
