In a year that has obliterated most everything, the practice of gratitude seems an altogether radical act of defiance. Though 2020 has transpired in a way that is entirely other than what I had anticipated, the truth is that I’m better off for it. I, Lynzie, have grown and stretched and learned and I just don’t think it could have happened in any other way.
I’m currently waiting for the bird to finish roasting in the oven. The pies have been cooling for nearly 24 hours, the stuffing and green bean casserole were both prepared last night, and the berries were sauced the day before yesterday. I’m so far ahead of myself, I managed to whip the last of the pumpkin puree into a mask that is moisturizing my hair as I sit and let these thoughts of mine flow through my fingertips and land here, in this oft-neglected space.
(Oh, this space.)
The family I have made, the shelter we share, the food we enjoy – these are the things for which my gratitude is in constant flow. I recognize my great fortune to be surrounded by the people and places in my day to day life, and I regularly acknowledge how lucky am I to be exactly where I am.
But, wow, if this year has not been the dooziest! I think I’ve cried some of the deepest, darkest tears to ever have fallen from my eyeballs and I know I haven’t had this many sleepless nights without a single child to blame for keeping me up all night. I was laid off from a job that I loved (but that did not love me back). The dance studio that had once again become my sanctuary has been closed for more than seven months, and my body has lost much of the strength I had worked hard to regain. I started projects I did not finish.
And yet, in spite and because of everything, my heart is bursting for the simple everyday joys and sorrows that make up this life of mine.