Thank Yous

Simply put, I started this blog because I will be away and want my friends and family to know where I am and what I am doing, and because I don’t want to loose touch as I search, and hopefully, find. But unlike my usual rush, this time I will stop to think, to admire, to be humbled by what I find and thankful for what I see. And so, comes the time to give thanks, partly to the days that have kept coming with complete indifference to my health, state of mind, questions, desired pauses, and partly to the people that have caused the incessant pressing of time to always be filled with more smiles than frowns.

Thank you to Jorge, Trevor, and Nancy, who came every time and held together, bolstered, patched up what they found. To Anesha and Brodie, who called and listened and pushed from thousands of miles away. To Kathryn Grace, who didn’t try to fix or alleviate or excuse or solve. To Becky, whose “kick your ass into gear” logic came at the right time, all the damn time. To Samere, who came to the Quad, who burst into the Jamaican accent on cue, who spoke calmly and earnestly. To Anna F, who recognized and was wise, and Anna L, who asked insistent questions about my health and trekked from the river to remind me that she still saw and recognized me in me. To Chine, whose mere presence was good, but whose genuine care and laughter and desire to see the world were contagious. To Chris Beavers (and everyone else at work), who was incredibly fun. To Emily, who tolerated and embraced without asking. To Crystal, who was unwavering in looking ahead. To Joanna, who always gave me the space to find my own answers. To Masha, who told me to pray and Krystel, who said “God gives you what you need, not what you want.” To Marc, who sat and shared in the University School parking lot for an hour about the world’s mad logic that, in the end, makes us all laugh. To Marcelo, who was there every single time without fail, and who reminded me how much I truly love to dance. To Seb, who bore my adventures and just shook his head at my insanity. To Alexis, who distracted and moved forward and spoke straight to the point. To Tara and Masha, who accompanied me on climbing adventures and catalyzed discoveries. To Janet, who laughed loudly at everything and made me laugh loudly too. To Carly, who talked, mused, and pondered with me on the water, in the water, at the beach, on the boat, in the pool, at the restaurant, and made me believe it was ok to not have all the plans, the answers. To Allie B, who knew what I needed, who came to sit by the side of the Palmetto Expressway after my accident. To Alli D, who lent me her gloves and a lot of laughter during those ice skating sessions. To Lisa, John, Tracy, Nan, Kelley, Nicole, Eric, Gracye, Will, and everyone else who made China and incredible breath of fresh air, and to Alex, who better keep his promise of introducing me to the wonders of CT. To my students, who opened and refreshed and sparked things in surprising ways. To Dr. Cacciola, who said the word "cancer" as casually as you would say "nightstand." To Mrs. Winrow and her English-speaking mother wisdom and humor, to Mr. Daniel and his constant belief, to Bunny and her effervescence, to Mrs. Morris and her encouragement, who all reminded me what I used to want, what I used to believe. To my grandfather, who led a long, rich life and taught me everything I know about growing potatoes, harvesting fruits, and the positive side-effects of carefully-timed, well-implemented stubbornness. To my grandmother who did what she always does best. To my mother, who quenched so many unvoiced thirsts. To my father, who has been, simultaneously, the single strongest pillar and the largest source of joy. To the people who laughed with me and hoped with me and walked with me, thank you so very, very much.

And so, we break and are broken. We loose and are lost. We fight and are fought. And yet we can’t escape each other, and shouldn’t really want to, at least not in the broader sense. There is a certain blissful communality in this world and it is our saving grace. If you stand by a stranger while waiting for the light across the street to change, chances are one of your laments matches up with one of theirs, one of your pains reflects one of their own. Your losses may have been different, but the scars they left can be placed onto each other and, skin to skin, you become equals. We’re all in repair, in some way or other. And at least one or two of your joys will be mirrored in them too, similar and shining in both. You might as well be holding hands, for you’re tied to each other, tethered really, through the ups and the downs, through the mere fact that you think, you feel. I think I’m scaring people by smiling at them in public for no reason, no reason at all other than the fact that I think we’re both blissfully here, in this world of dirt, of war, and hunger (not to trivialize), and we’re just two people who happen to be caught in a moment together. And then we step on and away, to more moments, more strangers, more of everything.

[I wrote this later, but adjusted the posting date so it's first...I think it belongs at the very beginning].