Guess What? GRATITUDE is officially Un-Canceled! *woot*woot*

Yall know that us runners and runner’ish beings are feeling some kinda way about the world. Specifically, for those of us who don’t own or like treadmills, getting those miles in when the world is shut down by the time the streetlights come on is stressful. Stress. Full. Bruh. However, all of us, are suffering similarly as we get those flight and hotel cancellations and credits, automatic deferrals to next year, or conversions to the virtual participation of a race we’ve been anticipating since paying the race fee.

We’re using the money we’ve saved to order face masks to go with our running outfits, or are mapping out trails in which people are adhering to the #PhysicalDistancing #StaySocialTho directives, because people do all kinds of math at work, but can't seem to calculate 6 feet between strangers.

Some of us are having first world struggles. Meanwhile, the Un-Canceled Project was feeling the tension and came up with this really great way to get that runner’s high and all that comes with it and #StaySafe at the same time. Check them out!  The Un-Canceled Project and after you sign up, request to join their Facebook Group. Trust me. This will be fun.

You not only get to set your race calendar, you get to decide how many events you do, and specifically how you get those miles. Yep, that’s right – you don’t even have to run them all, because let’s face it, you might need to stay inside. It’s not too safe out there. Here’s how it works: The Instructions!

For this past week, April 1 to April 5^th, my races were 10k and 5k. If you’re not able to run, 1 mile = 15 to 20 minutes of exercise. I’m using 20 minutes in my conversion because I’m also #Baking while I’m #SafeInside. Here’s how I got my miles:

10k = 6.2 miles

Running: 4.75 miles

Exercising: 29mins/1.45 miles

   [Math: 6.2mi – 4.75mi = 1.45mi; 1.45mi x 20min = 29mins]

5k = 3.1 miles

Running: 2.31 miles

Exercising: 16mins/0.79miles

    [Math: 3.1mi – 2.31mi = 0.79mi; 0.79mi x 20min = 15.8mins; round up to 16mins]

…and you know what, I’m feeling hella grateful. Because there is so much GRATITUDE, let me tell you about some of it (and more)!

1.   I get to do math yall! You know how much I like math. Yes, I’m still mad that growing up I did not know the story of Hidden Figures. I’m still hella bitter about that. I digress. The fact that I can run as far as I can safely, get back inside, and calculate the minutes I need to exercise to complete my race literally gives me an energy like none other. Like, I probably won’t run the full distance of any of these races this month JUST SO I CAN DO MATH. It’s that important to me.

2. I am connecting more online. Wasn’t that the purpose of social media anyway? I’m just realizing that I wasn’t using it to connect in real, intentional, and meaningful ways, until it was THE ONLY WAY I could reach some people. Being honest, I began feeling this when my sister moved to Shanghai to teach. I can connect with her via social media, WeChat, and her awesome blog. The fact that I can’t see her stresses me sometimes, especially when there’s a pandemic happening outside our windows. That stress is exponential knowing that even if I wanted to see people, it’s probably a bad idea because that asymptomatic impact is real. The stress decreases with every notification, virtual happy hour invite, and letter I write. Yes, I still handwrite letters and put stamps on them, and go to the Post Office.

3. I have always been kind to those now dubbed #EssentialWorkers, as my parents served in such capacities their whole lives. While I’m not grateful for our current circumstance, I am grateful that the importance of store clerks, custodial personnel, transportation providers, teachers, (etc) is being highlighted during this time. There is collective thanks and gratitude for their service, and an outpouring of love, respect, and support to them, just as we are (and should) our medical/health professionals. I just hope we keep this same energy when the world heals to ensure essential personnel receive essential pay.

4. Running has been such a powerful experience for me. Anytime I think of my time pounding the pavement, I think to my experience joining a Ragnar Team for Ragnar Hawaii (2016) #NotFastJustFurious. I had not met a single person physically, yet I flew to Hawaii, to join my team, and run around the big island. It hadn’t dawned on me that I traveled clear across the Pacific Ocean and didn’t technically know anyone until I was knocking on the hotel room door. In Hawaii. What is likely a cautionary tale about safety, turned out to be one of the best running and social experiences of my life. And here I go again… I don’t know none of yall, but I’m excited for the connections that come from this #PhysicallyDistantAndSocial experience!

5.    …and probably the source of my gratitude fueling this week – phone calls! My sleeping schedule has been off these past few weeks. So, when I got a video call Wednesday morning (4/1/20) I was soooo irritated. (the indignity!) It was my sister calling to tell me about my niece, to have me mediate on of their “spats” now that she, like many of you are WFH while distance learning with the kid(s). I answered but was VERY annoyed. As soon as I got off the phone, a friend called me, also WFH, to shoot the breeze during her “break” time. If not for those calls, I likely would have snoozed the alarm, and missed the opportunity to get up and get active. It just so happened that as I was finishing my miles, the creek trails started to get busy, which is what I wanted to avoid. What a blessing! I’m so grateful for all the human alarms in my life, waking me up, at just the right time!

This is tough. We have all adjusted, to differing degrees, to help #FlattenTheCurve. While I’m not as comfortable as I once was getting my miles in on the trails like I used to, I am so blessed, so grateful to be virtually connected to so many people around the world who are #StayingSafeInside and #BeingSafeOutside!

April 6^th – 12^th is about HOPE!

Join me! #virtually

Maro Being Messy #polo

So, I’m on new technology again. Ugh. I got bullied by a #YAMP into joining Marco Polo. Then, I bullied some other people into joining it because why should I be the only one to suffer? I was okay with that being the extent of my polo’ing. But, because technology is far more advanced than me, er’body and they mama’nem on Marco Polo got a notification that my petty ass was “finally” on. It’s a celebration, bishes – I guess. *shrugs*

...and no, i don't have an iPhone #DriodNation

Anyway, I get polo’s and whatnot. And summa’yall get replies that look kinda like Tami Roman’s bonnet chronicles because before I realize I’m on camera (by my own doing) I have already assumed my natural form. My bad, yall #WhoRaisedMe?.

Well, my running-mate-middle-name sake sent me a polo. Scratch that mate part; she’s running #inspiration #goals, and also my middle-name sake. She sent me a polo (am i using that right? is it called a polo?), and we gotta work through this one together. Here is an excerpt:

“I love this. I love being able to like talk to you and stuff. I’m so glad we, you know, made this connection, years ago – and you know sometimes, it takes a while for things to come full circle or whatever, but you know, I’ve always felt like, you know, you had this thing about you, this positivity, and this, um, this really, this confidence and this “can do”, and that-that’s something that, I really – really like and I’m attracted to in people and so, you know, high five… *high five in the camera*”

She gave me a high five yall *insert thug tear here* She said I had a thing, yall #MamaIMadeIt ...and then she continued on with the other parts of her life that included the humans she deducts on her taxes, with the human she married, and their dinner plans. Because, I think she subconsciously knew that me listening to words like that might make a player like me feel emotional and whatnot. Which ain’t the best look, because we don’t do feelings with recorded proof.

I have all the questions now, for which I have to write an answer because that’s also my thing.

Do you know how people experience you? Like for real. The people you know, interact with, meet, etc – can you say, that you know for certain how they experience you? And, if you do happen to have that information (like I just got from her), do you experience yourself the same way? Are you the same way you are to people as you are to yourself? If not, are you better? Worse? And why? How do you feel about that? Are you even able to answer that honestly?

I think I know how people experience me, but not in a way that I hold in my conscious mind. Does that make sense? I get feedback from people who are in my life, which is typically like a B/B- or something. I get a passing grade, but I don’t feel like I’m on the Dean’s List or anything. Remember, the world could come undone and this could be our last minute on Earth and I would still never share my sweet potato cookies, so like, I’m not exactly the A student I think I am.  I own this about myself. I accept me, flaws and all. #ImmaTrainWreck

I absolutely do not experience me in the way my running-inspiration-middle-name sake experiences me. Positivity? Can-do? Confidence? Girl, bye. Something so attractive that I seek myself out? C'mon, sis... I’m not nearly as good to myself as I am to her and that makes me sad. She and I made a connection almost a decade ago, and well, I made the connection to me long before that. Look how I treat myself. I have to force mental and verbal affirmations of goodness, and positivity, and love to myself! I feel like I’m lying to me when I do it.

My first thought was to not believe her. Isn’t that crazy? Who just sends people messages packed with words they really don't believe (well, yeah some people do, but that’s another post…also #WhoRaisedThem?)? Sure she got Marco’s messy ass notification that I was on Polo like er’body and they mama’nem, but she definitely didn’t have to do a polo on me (i think i did that wrong). She’s a full-time woman, mother, wife, working professional, and running badass – who has the time when you have little humans to oversee and early morning runs/workouts to beast?

I feel so much gratitude for her though, and her words. For her being, for her life, and for the way she made a little room for me in it on her commute home. Maybe this was just a really long thank you to her, and to that #YAMP who made me get on the app. And that petty ass friend who sent me a polo reminding me about how I lament joining new technologies - because yall, I really don’t wanna get lost in the Matrix, have we learned nothing from Neo??? – but I always come around and I love them.

Maybe this was just a really long thank you.

…and homework.

If you are anything like me, then you’ve probably got some work to do because God ain’t through with you yet, on today (because i love you, Bethany). Find someone in your life who does that thing I apparently do for my running-inspiration-middle-name sake. Call them, send a polo, type a ridiculously long text (and pray they don’t respond back “k”), or do something archaic like tell them in a face to face encounter. Reveal to them the way you experience them, and how it makes you feel.

I promise what happens next is nothing short of magic. It’s better than Disney. Trust me. I did the research. Waiting on my grade to post.

The Cape Doesn't Fit Yet

The last time I was up like this, I was writing to you all about my friend who had to say goodbye to his father. It turned out, I was managing the feelings I had about that, through the time my daddie said goodbye to me. It wasn’t a forever goodbye. It was, you’re in college now, and daddie can’t do this part with you goodbye. Different goodbyes, yet his father and my daddie were saying the same thing. We can’t do this part with you.

I’m up late right now thinking about another man and his father. This is a pretty special man to me. I can’t tell you all about him though, not for a lack of time or words – it’s just not the time yet, and those aren’t the words I have. I have been thinking about him and his father for a while now. But I know, while it’s genuine, it’s also a projection.

He and I just happen to be in the same place in our lives. Where something happens and your father, your pops, your dear old dad, and he has to become something else. And after they worked so hard their whole lives to give you all those wonderful experiences growing up, send you off to the best schools, and work day in and out paying for what all of that costs, you don’t have enough education or sense to figure out how to get through this.

His father needs him, more than he needs his father. It’s the not so fun side to raising your parents that we never status update about on social media. You know, the time when they like legit NEED you. Like, if you don’t figure out a way to come through for them, some bad stuff might really happen. And you might not be equipped for this, but you definitely ain’t prepared for the bad stuff that might happen. So you figure it out. And that wears you out. #ThisWomanIsGettingWeary #PretendingImMadeOfStone #projecting

You are oscillating back and forth between gratitude and grief. He’s thankful that his father is still here. I am certain of that. But the grief of this changing relationship, Lord? Having to be there in this new capacity? But it’s not new at all because it’s what his father has been doing for him his whole life. Growing up though, you never think the tables are going to be turned. You assume that your parents are always going to have this power, this authority, this control. They are always going to be able to veto that holiday plan you have, because ain’t nobody going to no damn Las Vegas Bowl the day after Christmas? Is you crazy? You can Las Vegas Bowl your butt on that couch! Child went off to school and came back crazy as I don’t know what!

#MyMotherDoesntBelieveInMe #DreamKiller #PopsIsATraitor #PopsDidntEvenHelpMeOutWithThatOne  

Grateful that you have the means to be able to do this. To fix the world up for them - even though it looks different every time you "fix" it. Grief because remaining patient and humble through that process takes an expert level of Jesus and you haven’t been to church in a few Sundays so… #Level:BasicJesus. And something tells me, even if you were on the front pew taking notes, it would still be a bit challenging. Like you actually need Jesus to be there with you through this kind of patience and humility – next to you, zapping you with patience and humble blessings as you care for your father. Because, #YouBasic.

And who, like WHO can you actually say this to and not sound like a jerk? I mean, I started this off with, my friend who had to say goodbye to his father – I mean, talk about your first world problems, right? For all the people who wish they had a father still here to worry over, there’s an equal opposite amount of those who wish they had the means to do what you’re doing right now. And you’re over there worrying over a mug of pomegranate tea sweetened with organic honey. Complain much?

You say nothing. It’s easier that way. You suck it up, and do it in silence. My friend isn’t looking for a handshake, hug, or help even. He is just trying to find his way. Just like I was some time ago. #StillLookingForThePath #TakeUsToTheKing

So I told him about it. In the black church, they call that a testimony. It was over a text message though. I told him what was actually happening to me all those times he was sitting right next to me. In the car. In the bar. At the tailgate. On the way to the game. All that time, he had no idea. I knew exactly what he was feeling, although a different father, it was the same emotion. More like emotions. It’s all of them bruh. Any given moment, you can be feeling anything on the inside, but that outside is like a rock. We become the rocks, like Tristan, that our fathers beat themselves (read: their pride) against. Unshaken. Steadfast. Unmovable. Strong  (read: humble-ish) enough to endure. Everlasting. Because we must. We have inherited this task.

You can’t give that kind of grief away. Save that for yourself. Gratitude is good. Use that for Dad.

His father is changing. His father is doing the most courageous thing a father can do for his son. He’s not being his son’s superhero anymore. He’s not moving the mountains, capturing criminals, or saving any more days. He is stepping down, so his son can learn to use his super powers.

My friend is going to have to figure this part out all on his own. Something like his father did the instant he knew he was passing his genetic material on to create the remarkable man I know today. The great man (my friend) who lets me order things we both know I won’t finish, but allows me to be great in that moment of ordering a beer I can’t pronounce because I want to be down. And never says a mumbling word about it. Okay, he says a few, but he lets me be great. Then drinks the rest of the beer. Because we don't waste alcohol. 

Things have to be this way. See, unlike Matthew McConaughey, my friend’s father won’t be able to leapfrog through time. The natural order, probability wise, will likely be preserved in this instance. This is what is left for us. A desperate, restless, search for all the horcruxes father has left you. So you can figure out how to make the cape fit. Lord knows it doesn’t fit yet – not even close. It too long. It's not the color you imagined your cape would be. Whoa - you actually never even imagined you would actually have a cape because you always thought your father would be here. I mean, you understood passing on the the figurative sense, but not in the "It's definitely going to impact my life" kind of way. An overwhelming panic is setting in. It's real. You have to do this. All on your own.

It’s then you realize just how all powerful your father was. And how ill-equipped you are for this task.

I have never doubted what it takes to be a mother. And I never will. But fathers have an incredible task to match.

Passing the cape on.

Knowing that it does not fit yet.

Unsure if they will ever see it fly.

I suppose that’s the real lesson fathers teach us. Faith. Believing in something they may never get to see. Believing in something they might not ever see. The great courage, the immeasurable love, it takes to have that kind of faith.

…and the burden to carry it. Like my friend said, it’s hard on the both of them.

It’s hard on us too homey.

Is There A Doctor In The House?! #IMeanAirplane

It’s that time of the year to be thankful for mommie’s cornbread dressing…and well all the other things we have. Like another year of life. I’m totally thankful for that. I’ll get to see all the things my family, friends, and social media-lites are thankful for with appropriate photos and hashtagging. It’s totally a thing. A good thing.

 

As I was flying back from Texas, by way of Michigan (I’ll tell you all about my #DeltaAirlines woes later, I swear, #ICant but #IAlwaysDo with them…), I reflected on the things I had been thankful for, as it was the 2^nd day of the 30 days of gratitude and I was late #AsPerUsual.

Thankful for being able to see my Daddie. You all know how I feel about that guy. Good (Great!) times with my cousins…I wish I could have seen more of them, but glad we got some facetime and selfies. Grateful that my feet carried me another 3.1 miles. Blackburn Syrup. Fried Catfish. Ratchet Halloween Parties. I mean hella grateful…all while watching one of those free in-flight movies, and charging my mobile devices from the comfort of my seat. #Bruh #ThisIsRealLife

Then, something terribly rude happened. My free movie that I did not pay for at all was interrupted by one of those flight attendant persons. I mean damn! It was just getting good. The woman on the other end of the announcement system asked a single question, along with a request.

Is there a doctor on the flight? If so, please meet us in the back of the airplane.

Whoa. What? I mean, is there? I took some Physiological Science classes at UCLA. Does that count? I mean, in a pinch, I can name all the bones, muscles, parts of the brain, and random facts about the design of our cells. That good enough? Yall playing Jeopardy back there or something? I mean, it must be serious. She didn't even thank us for flying Delta like they do after every single million announcement they make. 

In the back of the airplane there was a passenger with a medical need. They were able to triage that medical need for the last hour or so of the flight. All the while, I was watching a movie about a boy, and Earl, and a dying girl.

I realized that in that moment, I really, actually, truly, became grateful for my life. Sure all the years of it. But for it, my life, in that moment. We never realize how incredibly fleeting our breath is, until someone else’s is taken away.

For the remainder of the flight I watched a movie about a boy, and his co-worker Earl, who made every day at the end of a dying girl’s life so full, that tears welled up in the depths of my soul #SoManySads. How difficult it was, for all of them knowing, that she was going to live less life than all the other people in their world, because the doctor said so – and have no idea what to do with that time. Every day knowing they were almost at the end. I wept for that girl in the movie. And I prayed for that stranger a few rows behind me.

All of these days I've opened my eyes up blissfully not recognizing, that I too am that dying girl. I might one day need a doctor who is happening to fly my way. #WastingTheseTalents¹ #BuryingMyGoodLifeInTheDirt.

I’m going to be grateful for that for the next 30 days. And then the 30 after that. And well, you can guess where this line of sentencing is going... I imagine there will be other things that I am grateful for, but, there’s no way I can experience that gratitude if I’m not here. Not just a Thank Ya Jesus, I’m Up (and almost on time for work) type gratitude, but a living gratitude. An active gratitude. It’s more than just an attitude or a disposition. It’s living every moment in gratefulness. My eyes blink, and there is so much beauty in that. Beyond remembering to post it or publish it online. It’s telling myself (not just saying it) that You are here, Be Grateful. If I get nothing else beyond that, then I got too much. And I pray that I found something really worthwhile to do with that too much. That I made a difference somewhere, somehow, no matter how fleeting. That because my world was great, that I made someone else's even better. 

And I thank God that I’m soooooo here for it.

Bruh. Jesus be all up in my life and mentions though *dramatic clap between each word*. I couldn’t forget about Him if I tried. I mean I was on a plane watching movies, minding my own business with my extra large headphones on! Every time I think I got away from Him for a minute, He be like…Yooo! What’s good?! How you doing with all them blessings I gave you??

Then I be like, Bruh…

#Back2TheBlog #BlogginThisGoodNews #ImmaDoBetter #ImmaLiveRight #OkayRight(Ish)

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

WastingTheseTalents¹: Matthew 25:14 – 30 

A Blog For My Father #andasongtoo

Daddy. Papa. Father. The Paterfamilias. Pops. Daddie.

A man known by many names. A name that some of us all know instantly the meaning. We know exactly who that man is, when his name is called, by his people…his little people. He is mine, and I am his, it doesn’t matter what I did (let’s face it, you know me), or where we are. He always sees me just as I am. And on this day, I am running towards him…

But before that day (well, chronologically after, but before in the recollection of the memories…you know my mental life) I was running to a song. A song I learned about in my Introduction To Jazz Class  at UCLA. Taught by someone else’s paterfamilias.

I was in Osh Kosh, Wisconsin, meeting my twin sister from a different Mommie and Mister. See, we have the same birth day, but the years got a little off. Anyway, I was in Wisconsin, all the way from Arkansas, on a recruitment trip for our graduate school and residential life program. We were deeply engaged in some professionally social conversation when I heard the first instrument. Literally the first note. Now, I can’t tell you what note that actually was, because well, Physiological Sciences degree, but my heart knows it.

I stopped mid conversation, literally, in the middle of speaking, and told them I had to go. Actually, I’m not sure I even said anything. I was like Shug that fateful Sunday. I was doing something, and then I wasn’t. Because what I was doing didn’t matter like what I needed to be doing…in the place I needed to be. Just like the Lord was speaking to her, that song was speaking to me. I had to find where the music was coming from. Nothing else mattered #SeekingTheMaster #GodsTrynToTellYouSomething. Nobody else mattered. Not in that moment. I had to hear it. The song. #iHearYaLord

A Song For My Father. (you should stop reading, click the link, start the song then finish reading…because this song is everything…and your father probably knows it…and I’m already in debt for that UCLA class…so, for free, right?) Thank you, Horace Silver. Somebody needs to play that at SF Jazz. They would get a lifetime membership from me. Meanwhile, you should join.

Anyway, back to the story. I stopped speaking, literally in the middle of speaking to prospective students and employees, and sprinted toward the music #TheMakingsOfARunner #WhenIYetDidNotKnowTheLordsPlanForMyLifeAndFeet. I stood awkwardly close to the band, eyes half closed, heart completely open, smiling, and listening for every melody, arms folded in pure delight. Praying that each one would be right where it was supposed to be. Housed in a memory from years ago, in an overcrowded auditorium, listening to an overqualified man, breathe life, musically, into me.

After the song, I realized that most important thing I wasn’t talking about. Love. What makes our heart’s beat. Things that fill us up, when the world puts us on E. I spent the next fifteen minutes explaining Jazz to everyone that would listen.

Running. Back to that memory. Daddie is a bus driver by trade. So he spent his days shuttling children to/from school, and field trips in between. If you lived in the Bay Area, one of those trips was inevitably to Great America, because well…the school year ends. So, I knew my Daddie would potentially be there, but not really. I didn’t know that I would actually see him. I mean, Great America. Ain’t nobody got time to be there with Daddie when there is literally every single child stimuli turned on HIGH, and hello! I’m a child and I’m so here for this. Lights, Rides, Shiny Things, Sugary Things, Other Kids… I’m so here for this.

But not really. Because I have a Daddie, and he’s the best one in the world. I know that other people think that, but well, delusion. I kid (not really)… Many of us are children of great men, so I know there are some awesome Daddies out there. But mine.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye. And before my mental facial recognition program could ding, I was in mid-sprint towards him. Screaming his name. Daddie! Daddie! Hi Daddie! Waving frantically like he didn’t know who I was, because well, it was possible that 6 other people in the world could have been doing exactly what I was doing because, you know, sisters…

I hugged him like we had not done this, oh say, 5 hours ago, in the morning, in our home. Like I had been taken, and he went through hell, high water, and Paris to find me. Like it was the last dance we would ever have after having lived a long life #iKnewForSureIwasLoved . Like his desperate search for me, after hours and hours, had finally ended #IGetLostYo. I held on to him. We talked about all the fun I was having, which didn’t really seem all that important anymore, and I sat there. On his lap. I didn’t have a single worry. Eventually one of my friends caught up with me, because…sprinting creates distance. I knew it was time to go. He had to go hang with his bus driver friends, and I had to go be his daughter, but somewhere else.

I hugged him real tight. I told him with authority that I loved him, and held out my hand. My Daddie kissed my forehead, authored his own loving words, and put a $5 in my empty palm. My friend standing next to me looked at this ritual of sorts, and attempted to mimic our actions. And in her tattered hand, he placed a dollar bill.

That’s Daddie for you.

And a facebook friend noted so importantly that for all of that, we have yet to memorialize fatherhood in song the ways in which we do motherhood, right? I get it. Umbilical cords, stretch marks, and well, baby’s big heads through a really small passage is worth noting. But, is that more important than our moment at Great America? Perhaps for some. Not for me.

What my Daddie was to me in that moment (and others like it) keeps me alive like my mother did those nine months bouncing around in her womb. My attachment to his leg that day was the exact same. He was transferring sustenance – sacred survival sustenance to me. And he had Daddie enough in him to give a little to my friend.

Actually, maybe I am a little glad that there aren’t many songs about Daddiehood and all that it is. For some, the feeling is foreign. For others like me, it’s too complicated to compose.

Horace did a good job though. I like the way he remembers fathers.

Happy Father’s Day to the amazing men out there, and to those gone before this day doing their work from Heaven. The men who save, the men who sustain. The men who are the source #NotTheMatrix #WelliGuessThatKindaWorksToo #YouKnowWhatIMeantTho. The men who can turn a child’s gaze from every toy on the aisle, ride in the park, dessert on the counter and every other sparkling kiddie thing – just by being. And that wanting, to be exactly like him.

Thank you for being Daddie. It keeps me being (whatever it is I am) all these miles away.

It’s Thanksgiving Season Yall #30DaysOfGratitude

So, it was Pearl’s idea to bring back #30DaysOfGratitude. You know, taking time out of your day to post something you are thankful for. No matter how big or small. Just getting outside of your stuff, to think about your life through a critical, thankful lens. So often we get so busy with our day, our life, our family, our issues, that we forget to remember that those are usually the places where our most profound gratitude is located.

That’s exactly where I found much of my gratitude this month. Especially that first two weeks. Baby Pey remembering who I am?! OMG. Nothing like it. She was a minion for Halloween, so I bought a pack of minion Mike & Ike’s for her trick-or-treat pail. AWB text me this month and said that she walks around the house shaking them, and saying my name. Being remembered? – gratitude. Realizing that my capacity to love is much more than I could have imagined? – indebted to Baby Pey forever.

I survived Rock n Roll Las Vegas this year…even with the double running! Though the original travel plan and group didn’t work out as planned, I had an amazing time with my friends, made new ones, and got to meet a living legend. I was inspired by every moment of solitude as I laid me down to rest at night…or morning…or whatever time it was. And woke up ready for the world.

I continue to remain challenged by the awesomely difficult career path I’ve chosen. But unlike any other tactic I have used to meet these challenges where they are, I have learned the power of my silence (when used strategically). I embrace it. I have lost nothing in my silence. I have, however, gained peace of mind like none other.

Of course, there were many other moments of gratitude…like My Uncle changing his clothes after a long day of work, fighting through traffic to the auto parts store, and fixing my blinker light thingie on the car. Milk for cereal. Pops! 2 dollar bills. Angelica Rollerskates & E-boogie’s born day celebrations. Halloween candy being 90% off at CVS. Bacon being a “free” add on item to my grilled cheese sandwich. My bed. Kindness. Mail. Poetry…of course I am always thankful for words #ItCameFromConcrete #ItsTenacity #ItsWillToReachTheSun. And lest we not forget, red wine. It helped me get through when Shonda Rhimes came for every single one of my edges like Sallie Mae does my loan payments with those season finales! #FatherGodBeAnEdgesHairPlugReplacement

But then something happened. The verdict came in. Or, the non verdict came in about Michael Brown. And I got so sad. I was detached from my gratitude like Avatar Korra and her past Avatar lives. I couldn’t sense gratitude and thankful feelings because the City of Ferguson was burning…like the hope in my heart. As social media so eloquently posted, retweeted and instragrammed… What kind of world is this, where we KNOW a man will get away for murder? And why am I thankful for it?

It would have been disingenuous of me to not mark this moment to you. At least to those of you reading this here blog. Up until this point, I’ve been making straight A’s, right? Setting the bar high and soaring over it in a leer jet. But since that day, it took a while for me to get back to it…to tell the world what moment made me realize gratitude. And it was a heartfelt memory from my childhood, being played out the night before Thanksgiving. As I sat with my bowl of dark chocolate cheerios and last bit of milk, I was so thankful. For memory, for family, for MY cereal bowl, the warmth of this apartment, and to be filled. I have a day without hunger. To have a meal that really and truly satisfied my being. There are people in the world right now longing for a feeling that just came to me. Without having done nothing but lived long enough to experience it.

That next day, Thanksgiving Day, I ran a 10K. Not a PR by any stretch, but an amazing moment to see JustBob take off and complete his (probably) fastest 10K ever. He’s had to endure so many #MedalMondays of mine that he’s going to have a couple of his own. And the first one, we will share together. Thankful. As I walked the finish line area, I awaited Angelia Rollerskates as she completed the 3^rd running event of her #4in2014. I could not have been more proud to take our #MedalRunDay pictures with our hair wrapped up. Thankful.

I cleaned up, cooked up, and high-tailed it to the Juke Joint to spend Thanksgiving Day with my family. The womenfolk prepared everything in the kitchen while the kids (anyone under 18 and/or dependent in whatever way to an adult for their daily existence) did the dishes, cleaned up around us, and basically, indentured servants. We all held hands and shoulders in the kitchen as the sounds of the football and basketball games played in the background. And, when the youngest grown up male in the circle was asked to bless the bountiful dinner, we bowed our heads and closed our eyes. He began… Jesus Wept. And ended. Hella Hungry. And kinda thankful? Yes, he had to do the prayer over… It wasn’t much longer the second time. But it did include more nouns, verbs and adjectives.

That night, after I salivated over the spoils of multiple Thanksgiving Meals in various homes around the Bay Area, I got a text from JustBob wanting to know IF I wanted him to stop by with a slice of his sweet potato pie, because apparently, one needs permission to being ME pie. Oh, okay. #nomnomnom Um, I mean, thankful.

Even in my failure. I still...gotta say..Thank You.

I haven’t posted since milk for cereal. Not because I’m not back, or I don’t feel any more thankfulness inside of me. It’s there as it always has been. I’m just stretching myself. I am learning what it feels like to fail, no matter how small…because aside from relationships, I do not fail. The old me would have pulled out a calendar and thought back to each to do remember what I was thankful for, to post it…to catch up. But the new me? I’m going to sit with this…and find the gratitude in it.