Grateful

I live for peaceful moments by the lake midday during summer,

the gratifying feel of spring rays on frigid cheeks, 

rivalling the shy blush of peeking tulips 

after months of hibernation.

I love the solemn nights I share with a good book during the rainy fall,

the floating feeling  in my tingling toes after taking off ski boots 

on a snowy afternoon after the slopes,

the furious love I feel for loved ones, 

pointed fingers and arguments and all,

the ongoing, unspoken conversations maintained with friends 

regardless of distance, 

our spontaneity and their unwavering support 

hovering from afar.

I’m grateful for this body of which I don’t always approve,

that I shelter from myself 

by turning off the lights in the bathroom 

and looking away.

I’m grateful for the resemblance I bare to my ancestors,

that they passed down their curiosity, will, drive, labour,

stubbornness, patience and love

in each stroke of my face and life line on my palms 

for me to be here today, 

carving my path 

while leaving the door open even wider 

for those after me,

as they once did.

I’m grateful for their presence, 

whether or not we remain strangers

or tease each other on the phone, 

proud to call each other family;

I know their spirits.

I’m thankful for celebrations 

and shoulders to lean on when heartbroken 

and wise words whispered past 1 a.m. on dirty tiles,

love lingers in our blood, my family’s trauma and joy alike,

itched in my genetic code,

tying us together, no expiration date in sight.

I recognize my imperfections and strive to better myself

to better my community. 

I strive to fill my life with meaning, moments, purpose and people 

and to take my time,

to be present with others instead of struggling to relive memories 

on my own.

I accept imperfections, 

perfection is unattainable 

but peace and fulfilment are within reach 

if I’m patient.

I recognize the shelter and gift of our planet and its people in the midst of conflict, change and uncertainty and strive to take care of it 

as I care for myself 

and others 

as we grow old. 

I am grateful for travel and culture and languages and knowledge and books and growth

and lullabies and nostalgia and kitchen counter dance parties 

and quiet.

for throbbing concert halls and music festivals and six flag park chaos in aggressive humidity and chocolate-licked lips with too many calories to count,

for startlingly beautiful animals and plants and oceans and forests and mountains and life, which goes on and grows through 

while we’ve predicted its end for centuries

and contributed to it.

I am humbled by what it means to be human, 

how similar, complex, confusing, frustrating, 

hurt, kind and flawed we all are. 

that we have each other 

even when we feel alone in our grief and late night aches.

I am humbled to be here

in these pages,

long after I’m gone,

elsewhere,

this remains.

words remain

and so we do

too.