Thanksgiving

Last night I curled up in my bed in the home I grew up in, one-thousand miles away from our home, but just miles away from the home where you also grew up in. I laid in bed with Kira snuggled by my side and studied the situation. I thought about the thirty Thanksgivings that have come and gone for me, and the thirty four for you. I thought about all the nights I had fallen asleep in this bed, mind abuzz with wonder, romance, excitement, and heartbreak. I wondered if it was the sadness night I'd ever had in that bed. And as I drifted off, I thought about how hard today would be, Thanksgiving.

I woke up this morning in that nostalgic spot – my childhood bedroom. Kira yawned lazily and stretched out long beside me, happy to have escaped from the two other boisterous dogs who rule the house now. I thought about my best friend, Aliyah, who is hosting Thanksgiving in New York City for her family and in-laws. There were major storms there last night so I hoped that everyone had made it safely and in time to help prep turkey.

It's fair to assume that everyone is missing someone today. Maybe it's a relative who can't get in town because of a storm. Maybe it's a loved one who is on the outs. Maybe it's a friend who can't afford to travel or has other plans. Maybe it's a partner or child who is spending time with the other family. But, in the spirit of thanksgiving, I ask that we look deeply at what it means to miss someone. Chris Gewald pointed out to me that after his wife Sarah died, he doesn't say "I miss you" to people anymore. They're still here. Maybe you can't touch them or share the same room with them – but they are just a phone call away. They are present in this life. And while I don't intend to preach, know that death can reshape what missing someone truly is.

We all have issues come up around the holidays. For some it's travel and weather, for others it's stressful in-laws and family, some don't have enough money for food or gifts, others may not have a place to go, in some households a burnt turkey may ruin everything, or maybe a relative drinks to much and embarrasses himself, and for some – it's a bright yellow highlighter over loneliness or loss. As I woke up this morning, I realized that every single problem people may be experiencing is absolutely legitimate. Its not worth it to assign a grade or a measure to issues that arise. It's all relative. But while we can't always control what happens, we can control our reaction to what happens. And today, on my most sorrowful Thanksgiving, I choose gratitude.

I remember last Thanksgiving. We spent it with my close friend Lauren. It was my last weekend in Austin before we woke up on Monday to move me to Colorado. After a nice dinner and a lot of wine at her house, we went to another friend's house. A couple hours later, an incredibly expensive bottle of wine was opened. We had already consumed a fair amount of wine, our pallets were by no means cleansed. We knew the wine was good, but we knew it was good because we were told it was good, we knew the price, and mainly, we knew all wine tasted good at that moment. After that experience we often used that situation to measure relativity. (We also often drank the expensive wine first, so we could actually enjoy it.) We are conditioned to know what's good, what's bad, what's right, what's wrong. You have to taste all the wine, and make your own call or simply trust. 

Even though this is my first Thanksgiving without my best friend and soul mate, without a man who has shaped the lives of so many people with love, depth, and grace – I choose to react with gratitude instead of wallowing in self pity. I choose to be thankful for what I do have, instead of what I don't. This year, I have the knowledge that TRUE love exists – while I may not physically have it by my side, I know its real. This year, I have a warm blanket of loved ones holding me. This year, I have not only one family – but two – mine and yours. I have two sisters that I never had before. They may not be sisters through law, but they are sisters through love and through grief. I have a seat at my family's table and a seat at your table; it's because of you that I am blessed with that offering. I have my health, and I am deeply grateful because my body needs its strength in order to hold my cracked heart. I have security – my job has allowed me to take all the time I need to heal before coming back to work. I have my yoga practice and my students – and I know that because of you, your life, and your death, my practice and teaching will never be the same. I have help – friends, family, therapy, and the world have all opened their arms. I have my life. And this year, most importantly, I have you. In what form, I do not know – maybe a spirit, maybe an angel, maybe a memory – but I hold you in my heart with gratitude.

And for all of that, today, I give thanks.