Post Thankfulness

Thank goodness.

I promise, I was not a morose, contemplative, lay-about this past 4-day weekend.  Nevertheless, I did spend time pondering things of Thanksgiving and Thankfulness.  It struck me that it seems too easy–flippant, even–to jump on the ‘Thankful Bandwagon.’ 

Thank you for taking care of me.  Thanks to everyone who makes me happy.  Thank you for giving me this or that.  Thank you for sacrificing for me.

I, too, fall into this rote, robotic process of generic ’Thanksgiving’ as well.  I think a better way to approach this–to really convey the genuine heart of our appreciation–requires specifics.

I say that I am:

Thankful for my wife.  For my kids.  For my family.  For my friends.  For all of these things and more. 

But why?  Specifically?

Were it not for my wife, I wouldn’t have my children.  Were it not for my wife, there would be no home worth going to.  Were it not for my wife, I might not know happiness in this life.  When I am a grouch, she puts me in my place.  When I am a dreamer, she feeds the fire and encourages me.  When I fail, she puts it into perspective.  When I succeed, she celebrates.  As well, she allows me to be part of her world, of her dreams, of her failures and successes–she allows me an opportunity to return to her, what she gives to me.

My kids.  I am thankful that they are far more patient with me than I probably am with them.  They teach me grace.  They teach me the simple love that is far more pure, far more unrefined and so very genuine and overpowering.  Where my wife encourages me to dream, my kids teach me how.  They teach me that there are no rules to dreams, no boundaries.  They are kind enough to lend me their eyes every now and again, to see the world, to see our family, from a completely different–and better–perspective.

I am very fortunate to come from a family that knows it’s place in the world.  Aliens, every one of us, in a land not our own.  Just here visiting.  I was fortunate to grow up with a family that knows better than to take itself, or any individual member, too seriously.  My family makes fun of itself and each other, and we laugh.  We laugh until we cry.  Over silly things that have no right being so darn funny.  And better, my family is probably like yours–where secretly, in the dark closet where we hide the real family–all humor, despite attempts at the high-brow and academic, eventually give way to flatulence jokes and bathroom humor.  My family is wonderfully, adorably, unapologetic for being unpretentious and blue-collar.

And my friends.  There are a few of them, thankfully.  Closer in the past then we are now, I suppose, but understandably so given we are all now mid-journey in our own stories.  Wives.  Kids.  Careers.  Travel.  War.  I am thankful, though, that as we come closer to the later chapters, the same friends will be there, to come together and join stories again.  It’s not common for elementary school friends to still hang-out–but we do.  We will.

Pondering all of this, I discovered I’m far more thankful, to far more people, then I let on.  I need to change that.  It is interesting to me to see how people change, how their demeanor changes, how their prespectives change–how their lives change–when they know, really know, that what they do is making a difference, that by just being here, alive, with you and I, they are making a difference for somebody.

It is affirming, emboldening, and necessary.

I know it’s post-holiday, and we are all officially off the hook for pouring out any further Thanksgiving–but take a moment and buck the system.  Break the rules.  Take a moment and tell somebody specifically why you appreciate them. 

You’ll be glad you did.