Even for the Thorns

“Gratitude is the antidote. It is useful in combating a variety of diseases, from something as vague as the discontents of civilization to something as specific as personal grief. Thanksgiving is the holiday of gratitude, and I am always willing to celebrate it.”
– Jon Carroll, SF Chronicle

The effect of being under a deadline for a long time is sometimes the inability to do anything but lie down on the floor. Unfortunately, our immune systems occasionally get in on the act, as they did on Tuesday when D. skipped a class, came home early, and in between the first two bites of dinner, fell over on the couch. T. woke him up pasty-pale, sweating, and fighting hard to keep down the little bit of food he’d eaten.

Obviously, this is not what you really need when you’re doing a project a multi-billion dollar company is expecting you to demonstrate on Friday. No, not what you need at all. But, it’s what you have. And so…

Last week, one of the ships owned by the company for which D. works was taken by pirates. Last night, the news came that several of his coworkers, who had gone to Mumbai to take care of business concerns there, were subject to gunfire, as the major violence is 200 meters from the office. Suddenly simple things like doing the job for which you are paid seem a little chancy. It’s not what you’re expecting, when you get up and go to work in the morning, but it’s what you have. And so…

Thanksgiving. It’s not something that’s celebrated here, and last year one of the students rather mockingly referred to it as “the day when you all thank Jaysus for your country,” — insert your best caricature of a Southern Baptist preacher voice there. While T. longed to give the speaker a good clout ’round the ears for his flippancy, we both recognize that many people even within the U.S. think Thanksgiving a holiday concocted of syrup of saccharine and sentiment, that religious people all go ’round the table and say we’re thankful for our puppies and kitties, and then sing All Things Bright and Beautiful or something. This is an unfortunately narrow view which denies that people in the U.S. and everywhere have danger, hardship, troubles and fears and pain and worries and concerns yearly, monthly, three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year, and that sometimes we’re taking time out to be grateful not because of what we have but in spite of what we’ve been given.

Thanksgiving.

D’s student loans allow him to attend school, but he works so he isn’t called on to take out more than he wants to repay, and so we can carry on paying for things back home. The potential of D. losing his job — especially now — is very real, and at times it would be a relief — the pressure there, especially as the economy creates a demand for a tighter run corporation, and everyone wants to have meetings and more meetings — is intense.

Meanwhile, T. wonders what place art has in scheme of things, and if she shouldn’t just get a “real job,” so things will get better as a few people have “encouraged” her to do. Besides, it could make a real difference here — a nicer flat with, oh, working boilers and less time on foot or riding public transportation in the freezing cold, for a start. A creative life may not be the smartest trade for the ability to drive in the rain instead of walk. Do we ever know for sure if we’ve made the right choice, do we ever escape self-doubt even one day a year? No.

It’s not what you expect when you go to school and decide what you’re doing to do, and determine who you want to be. It’s not what you expect — self doubt and fears and pressure and stress. Wasn’t growing up supposed to be The Ultimate Thing? How is it that it’s not?

It’s not what you expect, but it’s what you have. And so…

You go on. And you are mindful, and observant, and then, thankful.

We’re thankful because we’ve gone away, and that only by going away can you come home and see it in its true colors.

We’re thankful because when we’ve been away, we come back to people who see us differently, and maybe in new ways.

We’re thankful for the friends we’ve drifted away from, through conflict or geography, and honor the what-was, and celebrate with new friends the what-may-be.

We are thankful for the fragility of words, for the transience of creativity, for the ability to put down our thoughts — and then erase them, and restate them, again and again and again.

We are thankful for the times when no one’s listening, and for the moments when we cringe from the spotlights on the stage.

We are thankful for the times when we are not strong, or fast, or inspired, but run the race with patience anyway.

We are thankful for the pain in our bodies which corresponds to the strength — eventually — in our limbs. At some point.

We are thankful for every single awful job, every single psychotic boss, every squirrel-y, weaselly coworker, because you can only be grateful for freedom when you know how bad captivity can be.

We are thankful for what we’ve given up, in return for what we know we will ultimately gain.

We are thankful for the many ways in which people ask, “How do you do it?” and for the fact that mostly, we don’t really know.

We are thankful for what is left of the rose, after the summer and the scent and the softness; yes, even for the thorns.

For everyone who ever taught us the hard way that they couldn’t be trusted: we’re thankful. For everyone who ever told us something for our own good, who made us make our own beds, and lie in them, for every time we had to make it on our own, with no support, we’re thankful — because now our victories our ours, our beds are just the way we like them, and our lives are our own.

(Except the bits we choose to share.)

(With you. And did you note in there that we are thankful for you?)

And here we are.

Scrambling out the door, wrapping up in gloves and scarves, racing to catch the bus to make it to the grueling three-hour full rehearsal before the Bach concert this Sunday, wind scoured and sniffling and belting out the words —

Here we are, full of thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving.

– D & T