Thank you for tapas (one of the niyamas).

Thank you for repeated reminders to self like the one to acknowledge that when I seem to do well, other people and circumstances (even “tragedies”) are crucial to that success. 

Thank you for friends who treasure the good in us despite evidence against it. Thank you if I learn from their examples.

Thank you for diminished fear of death now that my closest pal is gone.

Thank you for doggy hugs and kisses.

Thank you for a friend’s memory: “The sound of her pitter patter, little beans on the floor, I’ll never forget that.”  (I love you, AH.)

Thank you for welcoming what arises from the unknown.

Thank you for Neighbor G’s condolences. I shared that walking helps. She said doing so changes your brain chemistry, so it’s good for grief.

Thank you for after dinner walks replacing heaviness with energy while alleviating angst.

Thank you for mindfulness of mundane stuff like toothbrushing and even pooping.

Thank you for the Woolsey fire forcing us in its path to grow. Thank you for the friends it gave me. Thank you for deeper connections in impacted communities.

Thank you for sharp peaks of emotion sanded smooth with equanimity over time.

Thank you for acceptance that if I can’t change the world on a macro level, I still can try to live well. That wellness will actually change the world. 

Thank you for the kindness in Al Gore’s talks. Thank you for the passion spurring his cause.

Thank you for lessons from regrets over Peaches’ healthcare.

1. We are allowed to change our minds multiple times if doing so is genuine to us. Decision-making can be iterative. (Is that the right word?)

2. We may be the best advocates—even better than the pros—for ourselves and those in our care.

3. Be aware of external pressures, and note the sources of those pressures. Same with internal ones.

4. If you feel rushed, try to step back. You may actually have time to think through a situation from a removed vantage point.

They tell me guilt is normal. Part of me wonders if we (Peaches and I) didn’t get her miracle recovery because I convinced myself it was foolish and selfish to believe in one. Or maybe the fight in me was exhausted. Sometimes our belief in possibility makes the crucial difference. 

Thank you for the peace that came from re-reading journal entries. I trust my girl is in a better place. Still, insights from doubts are tools to navigate future uncertainties. Thank you again for the grace she gave and teaches me to give. 

Thank you for her ashes on the nightstand near where she slept. It’s like Thich Nhat Hanh explained if his ashes were to be kept in a stupa. He would have wanted us to know that he’s not in that shrine; he’s not outside it, either. He’s in our breaths and steps—when we feel peace, fulfillment, joy, and happiness. 

Thank you for memories and the souvenirs, notes, memos that refresh them, since part of living well is simply recalling the essential stuff.

Thank you for trust in the universe translated into practical terms. (It’s a struggle for me.) Ideally, I make choices under my control in the present. And I plan, insofar as a discernible path aligns options with values. Then there are unknowns where I feel really blind or cases where control comes only with grasping—with sacrificing a value or wellness. The aim then is to let go? To do what seems best? Something like that…

Thank you for day three of a fast. I seek strength within that extends beyond me. I wish healing from dependence into freedom, from anger into understanding, from deception into truth, from fear into courage. For everyone struggling in relationships, may we achieve peaceful closure or may we work it out—with harmony prevailing, regardless. May truth and love be the foundations on which our futures flourish.

Thank you for the thought of vegan purple cows. The purple cow as I recall is a float with grape juice and vanilla ice cream. (I wonder how that sounds if you’ve never tried it.)

Thank you for my parents’ nicknames for each other prior to their divorce in the eighties: Mommo and Daddo (sort of like Jiddo and Sito). Anyhow, in Daddo’s final days, we all were there to care for him, and she once again called him the name that had long lain dormant.

Thank you for anticipation after a new used book arrives and before the first read.

Thank you, in uncertainty, for urges over and over to focus on the present and what I can control.

Thank you for those who love us and those we love.

Thank you for the optimism of spring. Thank you for new life ahead.

Thank you for epic road trips. If you’re on one, stay safe. Enjoy the journey and the company!

Thank you for your wellness.