Pity Party

By Thursday, January 23, 2020 0 2

I had a nice little pity party for myself this week. It was charmingly planned out with lots of sighing, exasperated floor sits, and huffing around in front of my husband so he could see how hard I was working. It was just lovely!

He didn’t get the invite so he showed up to this party very confused. Since I never explained what the theme was, he just bumbled around like “What’s going on? Should I get an appetizer together? Wait, we have that manchego!”

The party ended as so many parties of my youth ended: with me crying a little into a bathroom mirror. This time there were two small children calling for me outside the door and a still confused husband trying to usher them away.

Such a lovely party, thank you all for coming!

What happened that day was nothing much at all. I felt stressed, overburdened, and unseen. All I had to do was vocalize those feelings and they would’ve gone away. But I didn’t, I chose to give them space to flourish and magnify. It was intentional, I wanted to feel it.

The beautiful thing is I was aware of the absurdity of my pity party as I threw it. It was like a higher me was watching the lower me. I saw my feelings weren’t truly valid and could easily be remedied. I internally laughed at my huffing around. But the lower me held on tight because that lower me wanted to huff so I huffed hard. I wanted to feel like a martyr.

This is exactly how I got to panic attacks last year so when I looked in the mirror I kept asking: “Why are you choosing this AGAIN? This party theme is sooo last year!”

I know why.

Because it was my habit to martyr myself for three years. Habits, even the crappy ones, feel good sometimes. They’re comfortable. They’re like your old nasty ass gym shoes that really need to be tossed but you’re drawn to because the footbeds have molded to you. They cradle you in their gross familiarity. They’re home.

There is so much energy in me since I was introduced to the fragile nature of mental health. The majority of it is for the better, but I still end up crying in the bathroom sometimes. I believe that’s a wonderful thing, though, because it means I feel all the things now. I didn’t feel them before or I felt them way delayed, but now I feel them instantly and wholly. And more importantly, I refuse to hold them in because I know they cause more harm that way.

Because of this new feelingpalooza, my life is filled with more confrontation than I’m used to. I’ve invited all the things to come out and play. Not in secret, not delayed, not hushed like we used to. I embossed the invites and sent them to the whole fucking school.

This week’s pity party was so interesting both because of its familiarity and its unfamiliarity. It was the old me but I was separated from her. I tried not to get involved and that was my mistake. I should’ve escorted the unruly guest to a side room, let her express her feelings, and changed the party theme. Bam. Done.

If you happen to be invited to one of my parties, pity party or confrontation party, please bear with me as I navigate this new skill of feeling and expressing all the things. Sometimes I buck it up and cry in the mirror or cause full family arguments, but it’s all out of love, I promise.

I own my story, all of it. I am grateful for where I am but that means I am also grateful for the road that got me here. My higher self wants to drive now. She’s taking the wheel but only has her learner’s permit so some of the advanced maneuvers like unlearning martyrdom and learning healthy expression may take a while. There will be hills and bumps and scratches, but the destination is clear and that driver is friggin tenacious.


Your mind loves habits but cannot differentiate between the good ones and the bad ones. All it knows is the familiar and breaking them takes a very conscious, very tenacious driver. Setbacks are part of the deal, so please throw out those old nasty gym shoes, you deserve an upgrade.

A Frank Reminder of Joy

By Thursday, December 19, 2019 0 5

Seven years ago on Christmas Day, I was stuck in LAX for twelve hours. There were delays, cancellations, and more delays. Before I knew it, I spent the entire day at the airport.

As the hours passed, my mood progressed from bad to pissy. It was so unfair that I had to waste my Christmas day away from my husband and family. The Christmas music was grating to my ears. The carpet was fugly. Everyone was annoying and gawwwwwd, the children were loud. Just leave me alone, people, don’t you know I’m being wrongly held here in this gross airport?

Merry Christmas to all!

About six hours into the ordeal, I was in a very long line preparing to be rude to a frazzled ticketing agent. The tall man behind me started talking in a way that meant he wanted to engage the people around. I thought, oh hellz no, there is NO way I’m going to talk to him. Doesn’t he know life is unfair and I’m pissy?

But then something switched in me and I turned to face him. I was going to talk to a stranger, you guys. *GASP!*

Along with a few others in line, we chatted about where we were supposed to be. The tall man listened to our woe-is-me’s and when asked where he was supposed to be, he dropped this one on us: he was wrongly incarcerated for 27 years and this was his first Christmas out. He was going to see his son, Nick, and spend Christmas with him for the first time since Nick was 4-years-old. Nick was now 31.

Wait, what???

His name was Frank O’Connell and he was sentenced to life in prison for a murder he did not commit in 1984. He fought for decades to be exonerated, and finally after 27 years, 27 Christmas days, he was free.

He told the small group gathered around him that he feels no anger about what happened to him. He forgave everyone involved long ago since he didn’t want to carry that energy. “It was too heavy, there was no need to let it weigh me down,” he said.

Now THAT is a problem, THAT is a delay in plans, THAT is unfair. What was happening to me was nothing. So I was stuck in an airport, was that really a problem? I was free, I was safe, I would be going home, but I was angry. And here was a man who lost 27 years and the chance to raise his son, but he was not angry. He could have been bitter and pissy but he didn’t want to lose the rest of his life to that energy.

Everyone who heard Frank’s story shifted and the entire airport felt our shift. Suddenly the Christmas music was beautiful and uplifting. I saw friendly faces and cute kids running happily around me. The carpet was actually pleasantly retro.

We moved through the slow ticketing line, desperate for Frank’s story and his joyful energy. I was disappointed when it was my turn, but now I was not rude to the frazzled ticketing agent. I was light, I was joyful, I was free from anger.

Frank went to a different gate but I maintained my shift and over the next six hours, an airport family formed. We chatted and laughed, we sat on the retro carpet and shared food, we were perfectly content to spend Christmas Day in the airport with our new family. And when I finally got on my flight home, they gave out free wine. Hallelujah heard on high!!

To Frank, thank you for one of the best Christmas days I’ve ever had. Know that people who heard your story seven years ago remember you and your energy. Know that you single-handily changed a bad day to a fantastic one for those who dared to talk to a stranger. Know that you are a pure example of the power of mental choice.

To everyone else, Merry Christmas, happy holidays, happy life. If your day doesn’t go exactly as planned, remember we can all be Frank. Your mental outlook is a choice and the most powerful tool you have in life. It holds the key to whether you have pissy day or a life-altering day while stuck in the airport. Friendly faces are always waiting for us to turn around and chat. The music is always waiting for us to listen. A happy life is always waiting for us to start living.


The energy you carry is optional. If it’s too heavy, put it down and pick up something light. And frankly, to be frank, just be Frank and choose to be mentally free.

That Sucks

By Thursday, December 5, 2019 0 4

I went to a deer skull boil the other week. Wait, how do you not know what that is??? We’re a weird mountain folk here in Denver. It’s a party where kids watch a deer skull get boiled down to all its parts (and odors). They get to see the eyeball sockets, touch the jaw bone, and learn words like “severed brain stem”. Then they sample venison hooray! Just in time for Rudolph!

One of the guests brought her cousin who had moved to Denver the day before. She had no friends, no job, no place to live, and no plan. I was curious so I asked why she moved.

The moment she started talking I was uncomfortable by her erratic energy. I could tell there was some mental instability and the more she told her story, the more uncomfortable I became.

Her story was tragic. She left West Virginia where her recently ex-husband had her committed to a mental institution and took her three children away. She moved to Colorado on a whim to get a handle on her life and away from a very negative situation.

As she was telling her story, she became angry. The story went on and so did the dropping of various F-bombs, S-bombs, and A-bombs. It became clear she wasn’t innocent in the whole tragedy, which is when I awkwardly ended the conversation with a: “Was that my kid crying? Gotta go!”

“What a train wreck,” I thought, “I’d rather probe the deer’s cerebral cortex.”

I avoided her for the rest of the party. I watched the other guests avoid her too. She stood awkwardly among the children running by waving deer hide like baby brutes. Everything about her was wild, broken, unstable.

And then I had a thought – yes, she most likely did have a mental health issue, but didn’t I have a tiny understanding with my own mental health experience what that might be like? Didn’t I know that sometimes it’s beyond your control? Didn’t I know that all I wanted was someone to see my struggle and simply say: “That sucks, I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”?

I walked over and said exactly that: “That sucks, I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” Tears welled up in her eyes, she exhaled and for a moment was calm. Granted the next moment she was telling me the story again about the A-hole who was an F-tard, and did S-tastic things, but aaaah, that one moment of calm. It felt so good to give her that, to let her know I saw her.

At the end of the day, here was a person struggling with mental stability who just lost her kids, her husband, and everything that was home to her. And now she was at some weird pagan party with strangers who found carcass boiling to be a celebratory time. That. Sucks.

I know that mental health is not as guaranteed as I once thought, and those suffering truly are suffering. Instead of pushing them away, they need to be acknowledged and not treated like pariahs. Because trust me, they already think they’re broken and it doesn’t help to be told through our recoiling and avoiding that we agree. Sometimes they just need to know that we see they are suffering and that sucks what is happening to them.

We would all benefit from a figurative human empathy boil where we watch the human condition get boiled down to all it’s various parts (and odors). We would see what we’re made of and how we’re the same. We would see that what it all boils down to is the heart that pumps life into us all. It can also pump life into those around us if we let it, my deer dears.

In unrelated closing, it would be cruel of me to write a post about a deer and not include the best thing on the internet (sound on!):

You’re welcome


Sometimes the things that make us recoil are the things that need us to lean in. And sometimes things are just a plain ole suck fest and that’s all that’s needed to say. They also forgot to mention that deer skull boils are most definitely celebratory pagan good times!

To The Girl Who Told Me to Shut Up

By Wednesday, November 13, 2019 2 5

Dear Girl Who Told Me to Shut Up,

First off, I apologize for ruining the first song of the Ray LaMontagne concert for you by chatting with my friend. Your rage caused you to whip around and snarl “Are you done talking yet? Can you shut up now?” with such malice that my response was an artful, succinct “Wow.” Truly, there was no other response for me to give. It was a wow moment.

After you told me to shut my pie hole, you didn’t give me another glance. But we were henceforth bonded by our now mutual rage. Our connected energies were lightsabers battling in a galaxy far, far away. I was like: “on guard, you Dark Force Sith, to the death.”

Actual photo of the encounter. I’m the good one on the left, obvi.

See, I let your rage spread to me. It duplicated itself and I now felt the same about you. My anger changed you into a horrible shell of a human with a stupid looking demon face who probably chewed with your mouth open while throwing things at dogs.

I let my anger ruin the next song while I marinated in the wow of it and plotted my Jedi revenge. I stared at you, Shut Up Girl, seething with the hatred you sent and the injustice of what you said. But then I remembered this quote and it immediately snuffed out my rage:

Anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.

I was allowing anger to ruin a rare night out with friends. And for what purpose? It was so unnecessary. So I let it go and did the opposite. I stared at you again and took out my lightsaber but instead of rage, I sent you compassion, forgiveness, and love. Yup, a big ole sloppy love saber. Your dumb demon face disappeared and I saw your humanity again.

I saw in that moment how anger is a poison that serves no purpose but to sicken us and ruin our connections. It does not allow us to feel compassion for others. It makes it so we can’t see others as humans also having human experiences. It also takes away our ability to listen — like, really hear the words.

While I can’t eliminate future anger, I can eliminate its longevity and the potency of its poison. I can use it as a reminder to be more compassionate and to connect with whoever/whatever pisses me off. Why do I feel this? Is it serving me? How can I let it go? Does it really chew with its mouth open?

I really did love you for the next hour we spent connected. When you stood up to leave, I saw you were carefully cradling a new poster of Ray LaMontagne and wearing a t-shirt with his face and these lines on it:

I wanted to hug you and say: “That’s what I’m talking ’bout, Shut Up Girl! Aw, you get it.”.

You really wanted to hear his music and my yapping ruined that for you. In the future, though, please consider the humanity of the person you are confronting. Wielding rage only serves to infect others with rage. It does not serve us. I love you, Shut Up Girl, and I hope you found a lovely spot for your new poster.

May the Force be with you,



Anger is not only a poison, it’s also a choice. While it does serve a purpose, sometimes that purpose is just to realize you’re being a little bit of a shit. They also forgot to mention that it’s contagious, so wash your hands and your thoughts.

Anxiety: The Worst Houseguest Ever

By Wednesday, October 30, 2019 7 3

Something happened to me in February that changed me entirely. And permanently. Or so I hope.

On February 13th I experienced a panic attack. I’ve never had one before, but suddenly I was frozen at my kitchen sink as absolute terror overtook every cell of my body. It lasted 6 days because I had no idea it was.

It was the most shocking, horrible, debilitating experience I’ve ever had. I was convinced it was an awful disease because I couldn’t accept that my mind — not mine — could do this. When I finally accepted it was my mind, I didn’t trust myself and that’s a very unstable place to be. Aftershocks of severe anxiety rocked me for months.

I had never met anxiety until it came to visit that day. I know I’ve never met it because I would’ve remembered. I’m not talking about “I’m a little nervous, let’s go to yoga” anxiety, I’m talking “I’m out of my body with terror, let’s imagine ALL the worst-case scenarios and cry a lot” anxiety. Once I allowed anxiety into my house, it had every intention to stay forever. It’s the worst houseguest ever. It’s black mold in my walls. I had to strip myself down to the studs to rid myself of its sickness.

This light installation by Mihoko Ogaki became my spirit animal

The panic attacks and anxiety were my mind’s way of waking me up. It was like being woken up from a sound sleep by a fire alarm directly into my ear. I was fully out one moment and fully awake, fists up ready to get medieval the next.

I saw how life just happens for many and I was heading that way. It’s easy to fall asleep on yourself. It’s easy to think you have enough time. I saw in February that I had delayed pursuing my purpose too long and if I didn’t wake up, I would run out of time. I saw my college self being like “You haven’t even tried yet? Ew.”. Sure, my college self was wearing raver pants and platform shoes but dang, girl had some gumption!

My choices were very clear: (1) I could live with severe anxiety and be an empty shell of my former self, or (2) I could fundamentally change my life and be reborn. I decided immediately to fight, to kick out the shitty houseguest and bleach the mold. College me was like “Yo yo, she back!” and I totally felt like wearing raver pants again.

There is no universal prescription to eradicate anxiety which makes it such a lonely experience. For me, my antidote is pretty sweet because I am required to do the things that make me feel alive. So, I do those things. My antidote also requires I recognize that if my mind could create the crappiest thing in all the land like panic attacks, it can also create the opposite. So, I focus there.

Saw this unfortunate tree hiking and was like: “That’s me!” The perfect reminder that sometimes change isn’t gentle. Sometimes it involves ripping wide open to see what’s really inside.

Anxiety still tries to take the wheel to steer me to darkness. It’s like it’s alive and like all forms of life, it has an insatiable need to continue living. It feeds off fear and negative energy, so anxiety no likey my fluffy hope and gratitude. Yes, I still have aftershocks and probably always will, but I know how to smother them with sunshine and rainbows. I also know that bad things aren’t always bad and sometimes they’re gifts. February and anxiety were my gifts.

For those who suffer from panic attacks or anxiety, I see you. I didn’t see you before but I see you now. And because of February, I finally saw me. I will always have a scar from this year, but it isn’t ugly and I won’t hide it. I am more than ok, I am awake. I am done with delay and shitty houseguests, but definitely not done with raver pants.


Sometimes you need a wake-up call. While some wake-up calls are soft hands gently nudging you awake, others are violent, rude face slaps that leave you gasping for mercy. If you get one of those, you’re lucky but only if you choose to be.

Skiing as a Metaphor For Life

By Thursday, March 5, 2015 2 6

Four years ago, I tore my ACL while skiing.  It was a long road of aggravating self-doubt to get me back to where I am today.  The mental fisticuffs that went on after the accident was a complete parallel to life.  What I learned through getting over my fear of skiing translated directly to getting over my fear of life.  Let’s examine the metaphor, you guys!

The Fundamentals of Skiing


(1) To state the obvious, skiing is a controlled fall.  The challenge is to be the one in control of the fall and that requires you to push beyond what is comfortable.  It feels safer to lean back to be closer to the mountain and the solid ground you know so well.  But doing that gives the mountain control, not you.  Instead, you have to completely ignore your comfort zone; you have to lean away from the mountain and into the fall.

(2) Staring directly in front of your skis, another basic human instinct, doesn’t work either.  You do this because you want to know what you’re about to encounter.  But if you stare at the tips of your skis, your body tenses up to react to every tiny undulation coming at you.  You won’t be planning where you want to go, preparing for the obstacles, or seeing the big picture — you’ll be relegated to always being reactive.  As soon as you lift your head up, your body relaxes, those tiny undulations aren’t significant anymore and you roll right over them.  You have to look down the mountain and into your future to take charge of your path.

(3) The final piece is knowing that you have everything you need.  Trust that your legs and your equipment can handle the obstacles as they come.  Know that your muscles are strong and trained to carry you through the bumps.  Know that your equipment is designed and fitted specifically for you to handle the terrain.  They are more than capable, but you have to believe in them.  Relax your legs, let your skis run, and allow them to do what they are meant to do.

When you have these fundamentals down, your likelihood of a humiliating yard sale scenario (illustrated below) is far diminished.

Things They Forgot to Mention, blog, photo, ski, skiing, faceplant, yardsale

Sucks to be those guys.

The Fundamentals of the Fight

For three years following my accident, skiing and I fought, and everyday skiing won.  I was terrified, leaning back, staring directly in front of my skis, with nothing to stabilize me.  I was so scared of falling that I micromanaged every turn, knuckles white, smile fake, toenails continuously falling off.  I did not have any fun — like none.  Yet I kept skiing, determined to get over this gigantic fear and crippling self-doubt.

Then one day everything changed.  This was the day I gave in.  I was so tired of insecurity and micromanaging and overthinking.  I was done with fear and felt utterly drunk (I wasn’t, not a single sip of delicious mountain whiskey!).  I had an out of body view where I finally saw what I was doing.  The words: “What are you so scared of??” screamed at me.

And for the first time since the accident I relaxed and let myself, my legs, and my skis go.  My whole body loosened, even my vision, and instinctively I leaned forward.  My core showed up to hold me steady and I knew without a doubt that I had everything I needed.

Surprise, surprise, that was the best ski day of my life — even prior to the accident.

Driving home that day, I thought about what changed and I realized that I wasn’t afraid to fall anymore.  Obviously I’m not into being concussed, but avoiding a fall was no longer my main focus and once I let go of fear, I regained control.  I saw that falling can be a good thing.  Falling means I’m trying, I’m reaching, I’m pushing.

Since then, skiing and I have become buddies again.  We still have our setbacks but I know how to regain control.  I know that if I don’t take control; the mountain, gravity, and inertia will.  I would still get down the mountain, but I wouldn’t really be skiing, I would just be falling.

The Fundamentals of Life

To really ski, you have to lean forward, widen your perspective, know that you have everything you need, and then just let go.  What else can be said for life in general?  If you live your life through fear, you won’t be driving.  If you are so afraid to fall that you don’t push your boundaries, life will just happen to you.  If you don’t look into the future, you can’t plan or dream.  If you think you don’t have everything you need, you won’t have everything you need.  If you lack a belief in yourself, any setback will take you to the ground.  Because above all, if you don’t control your life, someone else will.

So there you have it: you can learn everything you need to know about life from skiing.  Well, except for solving the Pollock octahedral numbers conjecture, that you have to learn the advanced additive number theory.  But maybe skiing has an answer for that too…

Things They Forgot to Mention:

Skiing well, like living well, requires you to know you have everything you need, you’ve always had everything you need, so relax and just drive.

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This Can Be Your Year

By Thursday, January 1, 2015 0 6

Things They Forgot to Mention, Happy New Years, New Years, Resolutions

Well, hello again, New Year.  How are you here already? Clearly 2014 canceled a few months because it went by faster than what Einstein would find legal.  I was hoping for a little more quality time with 2014 but here you are, 2015, staring at me with your arms crossed in expectation.

Your first day is always so intimidating; it’s seductive in its freshness yet melancholy in its retrospect.  You make me paraphrase John Lennon while humming this with only minor heart palpitations:

So this is 2015 and what have you done?

Another year over, and a new one just begun.

Today is the most overt line in the sand you get.  It’s an undeniable request to look at that line, to examine the sand, to see if there are any amendments you would like made.

Today also tends to make you feel like a loser.  You can’t help but remember this time last year and all the stuff you said you were going to do, the long list that remains unchecked.  Your palms get sweatier, the tick of the clock gets louder, and the unfinished list gets shoutier.

There is a phrase called the “normative power of the actual” which essentially says that whatever exists, seems right.  It is used most often in the context of legal precedence and how that which is law generates a sense that it should be law, that it’s correct because we’re used to it.

As part of the human experience, we are all too familiar with this concept.  Whatever way we are living seems right.  We are creatures of routine and comfort.  Our habits are carved slowly like grooves on a vinyl record.  We go round and round, the grooves getting deeper, their paths more permanent.

The song your vinyl makes sounds fine to you because it’s the background music of your life.  It’s soothing because you know it.  It seems right because it exists.  But, it’s hard to truly hear your music when you are the one making it.  Maybe the grooves you carved don’t suit you anymore.  Maybe you really want to play a different song.  Maybe smooth jazz should be out and hip-hop should be in.  Days like today help you stop and really listen.

I’ve been waiting to do a lot of things my entire life.  I suffered from a common affliction I call the mañana factor: “Mañana (tomorrow) I’ll do that, it doesn’t feel right today.”  For years I waited for so many things.  I justified the inaction because I was “waiting” therefore it felt out of my hands.  I wasn’t ready, the time wasn’t right, it seems hard, so-and-so has to do this-and-that first, blah blah blah.

What I finally realized was I was waiting for me.  Just me.  I was the only piece missing.  I was waiting for me to show up to break free of the normative power of my actual.  It finally registered that life is entirely up to me, no one else can get me the life I want, and no one else can make my grooves.  That is the harsh reality of growing up.  I am responsible for everything that happens or doesn’t happen to me; no one else gets credit or blame.

We all need to remember that life is happening now.  Like, right NOW now.  The more you delay, the deeper the grooves in your vinyl record.  You only get this one record so make it play the song you want, the music you deserve, the life that is you.

So, let’s say goodbye to 2014.  Let’s do it with pride and with respect.  Let’s remember all the things we did last year that made us wonderful.  Let’s think of all the things we want to do this year to make us even more wonderful.  Let’s try to forget we probably had a very similar list last year.  And, let’s really do it this time.  Go Team!

Here are a few motivations that may induce helpful panic attacks:

Things They Forgot to Mention, blog, inspiration

Things They Forgot to Mention, blog, inspirationAnd one final quote that seems to contradict the last quote, but actually it doesn’t at all.  I’ll leave it up to you to decipher them:

Things They Forgot to Mention, blog, inspiration, buddha

Happy New Year, lovies!

Things They Forgot to Mention:

A new year isn’t entirely new.  It takes with it all of the years before.  But you don’t have to take it all with you.  Your new year is waiting for you to show up and tell it where to go.

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Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!

By Thursday, November 27, 2014 1 7

Today is Thanksgiving; the day dedicated to saying “thank you” by eating so much you have to go lie down.  Every year your mom makes you read the Ann Landers “Thankful” poem.  You feel like a 5th grader wearing a paper Pilgrim hat (more on that later).  Then, everyone is forced to go around the table and awkwardly say what they’re thankful for.  You get irrationally nervous and cannot think of a single thing that’s appropriate for Aunt Maybelle to hear.  But there really is a lot to be thankful for and we rarely stop to appreciate it together, so this day is significant.

Things They Forgot to Mention, blog, photo, Thanksgiving, table, grateful, gratitude, thankful

This year I discovered what gratitude really means, what it means to really give thanks.  I’m sure most of us, when asked if we’re grateful, would say “Sure, yeah, totally, of course.”  But, I bet all the candied yams in the world that’s not really true.  I can admit that I wasn’t truly grateful until this year.  I didn’t know what it really meant.  It took challenging myself for 30 days to consciously work on it to finally feel gratitude.  What I felt was overwhelming.

I learned that being grateful is not an action, it’s a feeling.  I picture it — and actually feel it — like water ripples that I send out.  I imagine the ripples reaching people around me and washing over them, letting them in on the secret.

It takes practice to really feel grateful, but I can attest that once you feel it, you will know what I’m talking about.  It’s the most beautiful feeling, the fullest vibration, the most spiritual experience I’ve ever had.  Feeling gratitude for me is like becoming a kid again where I experience moments of pure happiness, awe, and excitement.  I always wished that as an adult I could experience what my birthday felt like as a child where my face pretty much exploded with how special and rad it all was.  Gratitude lets me feel that radness again.

So today, when you’re sitting around a table with friends or family or whatever you choose to do, I encourage you to pause a moment.  Take stock of your life, your health, your past, your air, your water, your everything.  Try to feel it, how much you have.  Do this alone so your mom doesn’t ask you to share all your thankfuls with Aunt Maybelle.  Put aside the Ann Landers cheesiness of giving thanks and really give thanks.  There is so much to be thankful for, so give yourself that moment and really look around.

I will end today with this gem:

Things They Forgot to Mention, blog, photo, Thanksgiving, pilgrim, grateful, gratitude, thankful That’s me being a festive little prairie girl on the left.  Sugar and spice and everything nice, for sure.  I believe that’s my turkey chandelier hanging above us too (dope!).  Special shout-out to my siblings: tssk tssk to my brother wearing a hoodie (not a feather in sight), and to my sister clearly not into pilgrim fashion at all…

Things They Forgot to Mention:

Today is more than the feast, the tryptophan, or the football.  There is so much to be grateful for, so share that today.  Because giving thanks is something you give — to yourself, to those around you, and to the world.

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