In 2002, I was fourteen and in an inpatient treatment program at a downtown hospital. To be honest, I’m not exactly sure how long I was there. It could have been two weeks or two months—time didn’t really exist then. I only know that I disappeared toward the end of eighth grade and returned entirely different. The angry, dark girl who left came back finishing out the school year in cardigans and calling herself Christian, and no one really knew why. During that time, I had only my schoolwork, a wall “radio” that played a single classical station, and a Bible—the same kind they keep in hotel drawers.
I remember a girl about my age who always dumped a packet of Equal into her half-pint of milk, and a boy who was the most depressed person I had ever met. I didn’t understand why. On family therapy day, his mom and dad seemed nice. They were together, organized, prepared—they'd done all the therapy assignments and never complained about him. It was a stark contrast to my own situation. I understood why I was there. I understood the girl with the milk. But this boy? What was wrong? Didn’t he have it all?
It was jarringly bold when milk girl flat-out asked him, “What the fuck you so sad about?” He tried to explain, almost breathless, about the news: starving kids in Africa, bombings overseas, oceans dying, forests burning. He listed everything as though the U.N. held him personally responsible for the state of the world.
And then she said, “Yeah, but none of that shit is happening to you. How are you so sad about nothing that concerns you? You won’t even meet one of those starving kids. If you cared, you’d help them instead of just be sad.” And I guess it cured him, because not long after, he was discharged. That night, lying in bed listening to my one radio station, I kept thinking about how he was just a kid himself. There were adults—powerful adults with real resources—who should be tackling world hunger. Not some kid with scuffed sneakers and a nice mom.
A lot happened during that stint in the hospital. I read the Bible because there was nothing else to read. Milk girl and I begged the staff to let us do the Darrin’s Dance Grooves VHS tape, and they actually agreed. But what stayed with me most was the idea of wasting a perfectly happy, healthy home and family in order to stew over starving kids in Africa. I suppose I could sit and simmer in international starvation and burning forests now. But I don’t.
As an adult, I understand more about that boy’s sorrow—how overwhelming the world feels once you realize suffering is infinite and you are finite. I see how easily people get lost in unsolvable puzzles: inequities, tragedies, mysteries that belong to a life beyond understanding. So I try not to do the same. I donate to a women’s shelter and an animal rescue. Not because I’m fixing anything, but because my days are limited. I’m almost middle-aged. My strength is limited. My time is limited. And I’m not going to waste a perfectly happy, healthy home and family on things outside my control. I’d rather give what I can and be grateful for what I have, without setting myself on fire trying to solve the unanswerable.
Anyway, here is a gratitude list. I bask in the wealth of my life, and I’m unashamed of that. Yes, there are many who have less, and many who have more. But this is mine. All mine. And I’m not going to feel guilty for anything that belongs to someone else.
Glitter polish and stickers.
Friends being in happy, loving relationships.
Taco Bell.
Texting with past co-workers.
Friends who reach out to me for comfort and support.
A new season of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
Fresh-ground coffee.
Avocado toast with a little bit of everything seasoning.
Maxing out my 401K contributions this year.
Getting more tasks at work.
Sending and receiving Christmas cards.
Perfume.
Wrapping presents.
Decorating the tree.
Realizing how many of my year’s goals I accomplished, and planning for next year.
How this blog has evolved with me over the years.
How fortunate I am to grow and evolve in profound, beautiful ways. I am not the same today as I was even a year ago.
My husband cooking.
Costco.
Making “Super” Peanut Butter Cookies (peanut butter dough with ground peanuts and peanut butter chips).
My menses is consistent and healthy.
Grapefruit.
New ChapSticks.
A text message from a friend I haven’t heard from in a while.
Progresso soup.
Music.
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