Gratitude

Every so often my cousin starts the fam and some friends back on this daily email exchange. “Gratitude” gets written in the subject line and we write just that. Things we’re grateful for on that particular day, for whatever reason. It’s great, especially for someone like me, who has gone through a most interesting past year and a half. There’s always something I could complain about. I’m not where I want to be in a myriad of ways – geographically, spiritually, professionally, romantically, the list goes on. But I’m safe and comfortable and things could be much worse, and have been in the past. So for today, here’s my own personal “Gratitude” list.

A job. I get up every morning, blast whatever music I’m into that day and drive to work. I get paid enough to pay my tithes, my car note, and keep my hair done. (Not a lot of money for too much else, but at least I can drive around with my ‘do hooked even if I’m broke. Ha!) I’ve made friends with some very cool 20-somethings who keep me laughing and make the day go by faster. Not to mention that we’ve identified like 6 legit characters from "The Office" and that one of these 20-somethings has OCD and is literally from Scranton, PA. It doesn’t get much better than that. And there’s the routine and consistency. Everyday, I know where I’m going and there’s never the potential of being socked by a pre-teen and landing in the hospital. Which is wonderful.

An education. And the intellect to prove that all this book-learnin’ hasn’t been a waste of time and monies. Living in Montclair, the dichotomy between the educated and uneducated is scary and disheartening. You either went Ivy League after high school or had a bunch of babies, with very little in-between. I always did well because, umm….that’s just what you did. I didn’t even think about it. But I’m glad I did.

Friends. Who feel more like family. No one knows as well as I do that good friends, female ones especially, are extremely hard to come by. I’ve got the stories to prove it. But I can honestly say that I’ve got a handful of people that I can count on, for anything. Zach will pray for me in a second. (He’ll also make you touch and agree via computer for plane tickets, but I digress). Oke will run across campus through locked doors to get to me when I call having a panic attack. He listens and gets angry in my defense like a boyfriend, even though he was let off the hook long ago. Dr. Courtney will diagnose any ailment, listen to any problem and provide the love and advice needed, even if the problem is completely insane and self-inflicted. She never judges. Zetta is and will always be the best big sister ever. She offers sage wisdom with tact and a smile, gave me a fake ID to party when I was underage, a place to sleep when I had to be out of the crib, and kept me company when I was  handicapped. She makes me feel confident in myself even when I don't. The list goes on, and I can only hope that I’m half as good to them as they are to me.

Mr. Jones. He came back around at a very interesting time and in a capacity I could never have predicted. No idea how to fully identify him other than as….Mr. Jones. He’s an enigma, in a class all by himself, mostly because he put himself there, but in possession of all the bravado, brilliance and charm necessary to maintain his placement. He listens, offers insight and sympathizes with, we debate, poke fun and laugh at each other, etc. He makes me feel safe even when he's nowhere near me. He has become a constant, which I can appreciate even more so than his ability to keep up with my pop culture references, random musings and endless questions. He's not perfect, but he is rather amazing. But don’t tell him I said so. I'll just deny it.

Adam. I put money on the fact that my little brother is cooler and more composed than anyone you know. We grew up in dysfunction on steroids, but with all of what I had to deal with, I still think he might’ve had it worse. He was younger and saw a lot more, both in and outside of the family. But he is so strong and confident and smart. Fly. Not easily rattled. Loves hard. Genuine. Heart of gold. Bomb collection of music and J’s. In a lot of ways, I’d like to be like him when I grow up.

Gayl. Because she’s Gayl. World-class mother…who I can now drink wine with. What’s not to love? She’s that Black woman in poems and movies. The strength to deal with more than she should’ve ever had to, and the love and laughter to make it difficult to believe that she’d ever dealt with anything at all. No further explanation needed.

Fellow writers. Who make me want to pick up a pen because reading their words remind me how good it feels to do so. I swear, there are very few things that provide as good a feeling.

And rapper-at-the-end-of-an-acceptance-speech-style: I'd like to thank God, withot whom I wouldn't be here to be thankful for anything. I kid, but it's true.