Thankful

On this day before Thanksgiving, I thought I would reflect for a few moments on all the things I am thankful for. The few moments have turned into hours possibly. I am not going to make a list here, it's not that interesting nor meaningful. I hope that the people in my life I am thankful for having all know it; I try my best to show that more often than once a year. A special thanks to my wonderful host family in Kansas though, as they have invited me (or, did I invite myself?) to spend the holiday with them once again. Off to Kansas tomorrow morning.

What I was really thinking about though - as in reflecting on things to be thankful for - were the small things, the everyday things. As someone pointed out to me just yesterday, it's not the big things in life that really make a difference. Of course, I am incredibly fortunate (and well, I have worked my ass off as well) to be in a place in my life I am very happy with, reaching goals I have set for myself, moving towards what I have always wanted to do. But those things alone don't make life very enjoyable on a day-to-day basis. Today, it's the little things I am thankful for, which sometimes make me cry and other times make me laugh. It's the moments in which I feel something strong - happy or sad - which are so worth living for.

Last night, at the ER, there was a very old man lying in a corner, nobody really paying attention to him. He asked if he could have some water, so I found his nurse who said no he can't have anything and she'd already told him multiple times but he seemed to be confused. I tried to explain to him why he couldn't have a drink of water, but it was so busy last night, in a minute, I was called away to run some other more important errand. Later on I was back by his corner and he asked again. He looked so completely hopeless, so thin and frail in the big hospital bed, his eyes begging me for something I could not quite understand but could feel it. Looking at him, I became so sad. He must have been somebody's husband, lover, father, grandfather, son, brother, he must have lived so much and here he was, alone and helpless in a hospital, just trying to get a drink of water which he wasn't even allowed to have. I felt the tears coming, I had to leave.

When I left the hospital I felt really humbled. I have all this life to live and I felt so elated by that thought. Even the pouring rain on my face felt like a blessing. I didn't even open my umbrella while I walked to the subway stop. And I thought about all the little things that I got to experience. Watching people on the subway - a rather interesting phenomenon in NYC - reading a book I am so engrossed in I forgot to get off at my stop; sitting in a bar in Harlem surrounded by beautiful people; seeing a little girl in a pink rainjacket and pink rainboots, trying to balance a pink umbrella shaped like a frog (pink frogs??); a dog dressed in a bright yellow raincoat with matching booties having trouble walking; a couple passionately kissing in the rain; the warm and wet kisses of my roommate's dog Sasha when I get home every day; the case of wine I got at a huge discount from Rob (we'll see how long that lasts); running on leaves a million colors of autumn; looking south on 1st Ave towards the Queensboro bridge and thinking about next year's marathon; putting on a nice dress for no particular reason and then being found sexy; the word "sexy" in relation to scientific data recently used by my boss. And many more things that I don't even remember, which are so beautiful and sometimes so sad, but if it wasn't for those sad moments, I would not see the beauty in little pink frog-shaped umbrellas and dogs in yellow hooded raincoats.