Today, I said thank you to the Starbucks barista who made my Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew, even though she is complicit in my addiction. I won't press charges as long as she keeps making that goodness that unabashedly defines autumn for my soul.
Today, I said thank you to my dad, who gave me a stuffed giraffe filled with rice and lavender. I didn't know it, but you can be past forty years old and still adore a new stuffed animal from your dad, especially one that warms your toes and soothes your anxiety. If you're wondering, the giraffe's name is Claudia.
Today, I said thank you to this season of my life, which I will look back on and fondly recall as the time when I lived with three men who each named me their #1 Girl and had little tolerance for the other two men who demanded the same heart space. It's exhausting to be Queen.
Today, I said thank you to my husband who loves my boys because he wants to, not because he has to, not because there's an instinct within him to love them, not because his DNA runs through their veins, but because he chooses to, because he means to, because he wants to.
Today, I said thank you to the ministry of the bubble bath. Oh, the words that can be said and the sonnets written for the healing powers of the bubble bath, and all of those in the vicinity of the one freshly baptized. The bubbles renew, you guys.
In my heart I said thank you to Ruth Bader Ginsburg, a pioneer and voice, a woman of justice and love and equality. And I said thank you to all the people who honor her in her passing, even if they didn't agree with the way she voted. I said thank you to the people who respect the breath of another person, who don't need to have the last word.
Today, I thanked the aspen leaves for changing, for dressing in their golden-yellow ball gowns and blowing my mind every year.
And right now, I am saying thank you to you, invisible reader on the other side of the screen, for letting me be quiet for a little while. Some of you even noticed. You used the phrase "curiously quiet," and I loved you for it.
This summer felt vulnerable and loud, like everything I could say was too much or not enough. My son broke his leg; both of my parents contracted, battled, and recovered from COVID; everything was too loud and too quiet, too fast and too slow, too much and not enough.
I stopped writing for the first time in twelve years.
Today, I'm saying thank you.
Thank you for saving my seat at your table.
Thank you for knowing my voice, for hearing my silence.
Thank you for being the you that you are, the reason I still believe in the friendships of the internet,
In the gifts of social mediums,
and in the possibilities of humanity.
Thank you for giving me space to breathe, and a space to come home to.
In so many ways, my blog was my first love. It feels delicious and good to fall back under that spell.
What I'm trying to say is… thank you.