I’ve been thinking about my life over these last several months, and sort of mentally totting up all of the things I’ve done right, and the things for which I wish I could have had a “do-over” (AKA the things I’ve done wrong).

With the tremendous relief that has come from finding a job this week, I’ve been able to focus less on the little, irritating things like how do we pay the rent AND afford groceries this month, and more about what I’m thankful for…sort of a “there but for the grace of God go I” feeling.

I’m grateful for having a body not riddled with disease or significant disability.

While having an epic bout of the flu from late December through to the end of January was heinously unpleasant, it seems to have left no lasting ill effects. There may be more of me than there should be (read: overweight), but this is something that is completely treatable and I will fix as soon as I wrap my head around the lifelong battle that commitment to a healthy lifestyle entails. I may not have a gallbladder or an appendix, but I have both of my kidneys, lungs, and all appendages with which I started my life. I may be getting older and creaky-in-the-bones, no longer able to lift heavy weights or bend as flexibly as I used to, but I have not contracted any of the serious ailments, either of body or mind, that run prevalent in my genetic history. As I watch various family members and close friends struggle daily, I am deeply grateful that I can be there for them for support.

If I am afflicted in the future, I can only hope that the love I share with those same family and friends will help me through whatever trials destiny has seen fit to bestow upon me. But for now, I’ll just quietly thank my deity of choice for my portion, and shut up.

I’m grateful for having an amazing family and friends.

The last year or so has been full of ups and downs for me; financial, emotional, spiritual, and self-actualizational (is that even a word? Well it is now). I’ve had a terrible time finding full-time, permanent employment, and my husband’s and my dreams for our future have been put on indefinite hold until we become financially stable once again. We’re not begging for change on the corner, mind you, but there have been no vacations for years nor a honeymoon after our wedding last year, and if not for the generosity and kindness of our parents, we wouldn’t have had the wedding ceremony I planned, and for which I grossly under-budgeted (oops).

Suffice it to say, the kindness of strangers may be lovely, but the sheer awesomeness of my friends and family, from both sides of the aisle, has been the deciding factor in the state of my mental health over the last several months.

I’m grateful for being a #firstworlder.

I don’t mean that in any disparaging manner whatsoever. What I mean is the sheer bountiful munificence of being born in the right geographical location has not been lost on me. I might have come out a stronger-minded, more independent person had I been born in Burkina Faso or Calcutta, but I am deeply grateful that I was born where I was, in this city of dreams and opportunities, and to whom I was, with all of my biological/sociological history trailing behind me like Halley’s Comet.

I know I’m nowhere near perfect; some of the mistakes I have made over the last few years have been pretty abysmal. I want to believe that I’ve learned something from every “sub-optimal” experience. I still have a lot of growing and changing to do to become the person I ultimately want to be, but I know that when I ask for it, I’ll have the support I need from every corner.

I love my life. My thanks and deepest gratitude to the universe.