I have felt decidedly ungrateful lately, and it needs to stop. I know there is so much to be thankful for and these grumpy pants have got to go.
Two things have led us to this point, boys and girls:
- This blog post on writing Gratitude Lists.
- Finding out The Bloggess–Jenny Lawson–is writing a second book, called Furiously Happy.
I love The Bloggess with a love that may border on (what’s the word?)…obsessive. Not in a creepy stalker kind of way–promise!–but more along the lines of, “Ohmygawd, your blog is going to get me fired one day because I can’t stop reading it at work and cackling, and your memoir was heeeeelarious, and touching, and I read most of it out-loud to my fiancé, even though he kept telling me, ‘I’ll read it when you’re done,’ and I kept saying, ‘okay, but let me just read you this one part,’ and he just kept saying, ‘poor Victor,’ even though he completely agreed that a giant metal chicken is an AWESOME anniversary gift, and that Victor should have been more appreciative, and he should never, ever question you about the number of towels you buy.”
I love her, and I don’t care who knows it. There needs to be more women like her in this world. She’s funny, and gutsy, and I really admire how candidly she’s been able to speak about her own struggles with mental illness (read her blog if you want to know more).
And Furiously Happy is a fantastic name for a book.
She Tweeted about the book yesterday, and then Tweeted this:
@TheBloggess Thanks so much, y’all! Okay, now I want to know about something in your life that YOU’RE
#furiouslyhappy about. Go.
I Tweeted that, typically, when I find myself feeling “furiously happy” my shrink thinks we need to adjust my meds. But it got me thinking. Perhaps a Furiously Happy Gratitude List is in order.
So, here we go!
I am furiously grateful for…
- Cha cha heels.
- Small batch bourbon.
- Honeycrisp apples in the fall.
- Opportunities to learn new things about myself, those around me, and the world at large.
- Opportunities to hide, if I need to.
- Michael. I am furiously happy and grateful that Michael is in my life. He definitely got more than he expected with me, but every day he shows me that he loves me despite my crazy–and maybe even a little bit because of it.
- Really fucking good music.
- Really fucking good books.
- Meds that are–at least at the moment–effectively treating my bipolar disorder. And by effectively treating my bipolar disorder, I mean that I am neither bouncing off the walls, or hugging my knees and rocking back and forth beneath my desk. And the moods between these extreme poles are slowly becoming easier to manage.
- My family–of origin (mostly) and of choice (definitely).
- This amazing city I live in, where I don’t need a car, and there are parks and fountains, and the White House is three blocks from my office.
- Unexpected beauty. Like these flowers someone planted in an old, rusty street lamp post:
- High-fiving toddlers.
- Simple kindness among strangers. Nothing makes me smile quite like seeing someone give up their seat to an elderly lady, or helping someone pick up the contents of their purse they just dumped on the sidewalk.
- Living in a district that supports marriage equality, and knowing that my friends can LEGALLY marry the person they love and receive all the same benefits I can expect when Michael and I tie the knot next summer.
- Shabbat dinner. A weekly chance to break bread with friends and celebrate and honor all the good in our lives? I’m in.
- Singing. Loudly, and off-key.
- Honey bees. No, I’m not kidding. They do really important work, and you should be grateful for them, too.
- My pudgy, flawed but otherwise healthy and strong and beautiful body.
So, there it is. And you know what? It actually helped.
Thanks for helping me keep things in perspective, guys.