This month, we're writing about gratitude, and admittedly, I found this post hard to write.
It’s not because I have nothing to be thankful for. Rather, it’s because I have so much.
I have a loving family, who support me in every way. I have more than a mere roof over my head. I have a nice house. In a nice neighborhood. With nice neighbors. I have plenty of food. The water running from my faucets is clear. Drinkable. I have a warm coat and mittens, now that the weather has turned colder.
I am healthy.
And thanks to the support of my family, I’m living my dream of being an author. Because again, they support me in every way.
Which is why I’m finding this post so difficult to compose.
(See how I've been going around in circles?)
Please forgive me if this sounds overly dramatic, but I think I’m suffering from survivor’s guilt. No, I don’t live near the fires in California, where my house is the only one still standing in a neighborhood of nothing but ash and memory. Our sons didn’t leave an area the moment before a gunman arrived or have to live in fear of getting stopped for a traffic incident. I can see them, talk to them, hug them, whenever I wish. And though some of our loved ones have had challenges with addiction, we are fighting, and caring and enduring.
We are living.
We are lucky. I want to say blessed, but that would indicate a higher power would choose us over someone else. And I don’t believe that. I can’t. I won’t.
Rather, circumstances - fate, if you will - have set us in a position where, yes, we are entitled. And as I look out into the world, as I read the news and watch TV, I am saddened, often horrified, even gutted, to see those who are not so lucky.
I haven’t a surplus of funds. But I am thankful that I have a heart to care. Ears to listen. Strong arms to lift, hold and hug.
Perhaps most importantly, I have a voice.
And I will continue to use it for those who cannot. For those who are not so lucky.
How will you use yours?