We were together just four and a half days ago.

Like the times before, it was hard being in your presence. I wanted to enjoy everything about you since our time with each other would be so brief, but I don’t know why I’d expect things to be any different this time around.

I met you about 10 years ago. I was in town for a work trip, and you had me so captivated and smitten that I stayed an extra two days for you. That’s just like me, by the way – to stick around without a direct invitation to do so, just because I want to see if it could work. At the time, I’d moved twice for relationships…and I wanted to make you lucky number three. After all, third time’s a charm. Maybe I’d finally find what I was looking for.

Unbeknownst to me, I was about to make the grave mistake of writing the last chapter of a beautiful romance before the first one even had a chance to find its natural direction, the course it’s meant to take; my beautiful chapter never came to be. I used to not be so guarded, but maybe I should’ve been. I should’ve been more cautious from the get-go, the way I eventually became after dating someone who liked to tell me I was stupid for believing in God, and another whose anger management issues made me question my own sanity. Then again, if my walls had been up when we met, I would never have been with you. And you taught me so much.

These days, I’m back to being guarded. It’s not something I like about myself, but it’s safe. And after you, safety feels good. It takes a lot for me to take even the smallest of steps. Most of the time, I stumble. But I’ll keep taking them. I hope.

Because of you, I know myself a little better – finally. I know that your energy makes me nervous and puts me on edge; you lack the humanity and warmth that I need. You’re abrupt, and I know you’ll never give me the time I need to progress at a sane pace and feel secure. I know that we’ll never be a good match, even though I’ve tried to find something salvageable in you since day one. I think the key to my relationship with you rests in the knowledge that the most I can do is simply make peace with your ways – not try to understand them, not try to change them, and not try to shoehorn myself into your world. I used to try to do all three. I can’t anymore. It’s tiring, and it makes me question myself. You are the way you are because of everything you’ve been through. Me too.

The first time I saw you after our breakup six years ago, I got a migraine. Now, I’m somewhat numb when we meet up, but at least we are able to coexist – not necessarily peacefully, but it’s a start. Right?

***

I’ve always wanted to write a letter to New York City, but I don’t think things would’ve been as clear to me until today….not that I knew today would be the day. I used to think I’d eventually be a good fit for NYC, but even after living back there, a mere Metro North train ride away, it was always like oil and water.

Since visiting again last week for work, however, there’s a new calm that I’ve not felt until now – not peace, not happiness…just calm. Maybe what they say about time healing all wounds really is true – and for that I am thankful. It can’t take away the scars, but I’m going to look at them as a reminder of how far I’ve come and all that I’ve learned.

Mystery is afoot.

Earlier today, I was out running errands when my car started dinging at me. Like, the rhythmic dinging you hear when you open your car door. Or the dinging that you hear after you start your car and it decides to tell you — albeit with a single ding — that something needs addressing…either the battery on the key fob needs replacing, or maybe that you’re due for service soon. Only my door wasn’t open, and I’m not due to go into the dealership for another two months. And I was driving. Like, driving-down-the-street-minding-my-own-business driving. It dinged three times, then it stopped. It has never done that before.

Right before I got to my next destination, it did it again…this time, only twice. Note to self: have my trusty service dudes check it out next time I go in.

When I got home, I did a small load of laundry. Everything seemed normal, until the washer finished agitating and decided not to drain. What the…? Really? I wouldn’t have been so perplexed had my parents’ washer not decided to recently do the same thing. After shutting off then turning on the washer repeatedly, as well as resetting the dial, it was back to working. But still…tres strange.

When it finished spinning, I threw everything into the dryer…and, after an hour of things tumbling about inside, I realized it wasn’t giving off any heat on the low setting. I’m a fan of low, but not so low that my garments would never dry. I put the dryer back on high, and voila — heat. More weirdness.

Earlier tonight while I was on my way out, I went to turn on the back porchlight, only to find out that the bulb burned out as I flipped the switch.

OK, I give up. What’s the deal with things malfunctioning on me? I’m used to being out and about and having streetlights go dark when I pass them, but today’s chain of events was uncanny.

Last one: at a friend’s holiday party tonight, there was an uber-delish authentic taco bar set up, complete with those tart, tangy and oh-so-tender pickled vegetables. I tried to eat a pickled carrot three times, and three times I missed my mouth and it fell in my lap. In this case, the fourth time was a charm. While I’d had a cocktail, it was hardly anything strong enough to keep me from properly getting the carrot into my mouth. OK, maybe not the same thing as stuff malfunctioning, but hey — I was malfunctioning. So it sorta works.

I’m convinced something is afoot.

But what? I have no idea.

All I can tell you is that a clump of strange happenings like the one that paid a visit to me today is somewhat unnerving. Not in a paranoid sense, but in the sense that my guard is now up. My radar is tracking. Things can come at me all they want, and while I might’ve been going merrily on my way eight hours ago, now I’m not. I feel ready for them, whatever they may be.

Tonight I am thankful for the strange events that led me to being more alert, more on my game and more aware than I normally would be. While I hope there isn’t something bigger on the way, I’m grateful for those things that have me keeping an eye out for something that I wouldn’t have been anticipating otherwise.

They say life isn’t a dress rehearsal. It wasn’t until I was in my 20s that I really understood what that meant. It’s funny how the minute something becomes relevant in your own life, it hits home in a heavy, heavy way.

I have a bad habit of thinking I have all the time in the world to do things. I don’t. Nobody does. I tell myself I’ll do something next week, next month, that I’ll be ready in six months, in a year, that I’ll be better in five years, more able, a more complete version if the person I apparently think I need to be to do things that I’m longing to do, as well as the ones I’m not yet aware of. It’s one of those things that smacks you in the face when you really think about it at length. Then the question comes: “What are you waiting for?”

It’s a good question. And while I’m theoretically readying myself for the unknown, maybe what really needs to happen is more action and less waiting. More stakes in the ground and fewer nebulous possibilities. I can’t think of a better way to commit to today instead of passing on life and waiting on the future.

Tonight I am thankful for motivation, for action and for putting one foot in front of the other. I’m thankful for knowing that something beneficial will always come out of doing, of risk-taking and asking “why not?”

“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life – well, valuable, but small – and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.”

You’ve Got Mail is one of my favorite movies, and that quote is one of my most favorite parts from it. It is often how I feel about my own existence.

I wonder about my daily routine, my hobbies, my likes, my dislikes and whether they make me who I am because I enjoy them or because they’ve been part of me for so long that they’ve made me. I think it’s a little of both.

I wonder if I’m brave, and some days I don’t feel like I am; other times I do. I wonder why I don’t put myself out there more, but I realize it’s because many of the times that I have, I’ve ended up feeling like the rug has been pulled out from under me. Other times I feel as though I’m heading to a perch on top of the world, but it seems a bump in the road or a wall that’s just a bit too tall to hop over inevitably appears.

I wonder what it would be like to be that person that travels here or there, whenever and for however long, or to be the person that simply does, and does so without doubting. I wonder what it would be like to be that person and to be aware of someone else’s life – a life like my own: quiet, deliberate, calm…for the most part. I wonder if my life would ever be looked at with envy. I doubt that it would.

Then again, if it’s true the grass is always greener, perhaps it might. It’s hard to say. And since it is, maybe that’s meant to be the catalyst to get us to do more (or less) and find out for ourselves. Instead of idling, instead of wondering, instead of simply putting the cosmic question out there into the void.

Tonight I am thankful for my life, but I am also thankful for my ability to adjust my course ever so slightly, or so much that a complete overhaul takes place. I am thankful for my ability to do more than simply lob a question out into the universe – now it’s just a matter of doing something about it.

I don’t mean to seem disinterested at times. I really don’t, I promise you.

Today on our way to the airport, a coworker and I were talking about being in a group of people and how, after a certain point – meaning after the gathering reaches a certain number of individuals, we stop being chatty and start simply observing. Four or five is my max; five was his. Interestingly, we both said that people often times don’t understand our silence. No, we’re not upset, and no, we don’t wish we were somewhere else. We’re just listening, tracking, pondering, then thinking some more. And just when we think we’re done thinking, we begin dissecting the thoughts we just had, and then we try tying them back to the conversation that’s happening. There is, after all, much to digest.

You can tell me something and I will hear you, take it to heart, think about it, catalog it, file it away, then dust it off and bring it out sometime down the road to think about again – not to dwell, just because something will spark a thought, a memory, and before you know it, I’m walking down that infamous lane. I’m pretty sure I’ve always been more of a thinker than a speaker, and more of an observer than an instigator. And I like it that way.

Then there’s the workplace. I’ve known people who have nothing to say in meetings or non-work gatherings of coworkers except to say the very thing someone else just said, but more loudly. Or they always need to tell a story that’s exactly the same – but just a smidge better than the one they just heard. It is tiring to listen to. It makes me wonder if they are capable of their own thoughts – beyond just, “Oh, I have a better story,” or “Oh, now would be a great time to brag.” Those are thoughts, yes. But we like them to go a little deeper, no?

In typical fashion, I did much thinking on the flight home. I jotted down a few story ideas, and I thought some more about thinking versus talking. While there are many kinds of people out there, there are two kinds that are the topic of this blog: thinkers and talkers. Thinkers could probably stand to talk more, and talkers could stand to think more. And while the latter can propel me to up and leave a room even if only to try to maintain my sanity, there’s likely a corresponding action for those talkers who are puzzled by us quiet ones. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure there’s one.

In the end, it always takes two types to make the world go round. Coke vs. Pepsi. Adidas vs. Puma. Thinkers vs. Talkers – and I am thankful for them all. Without an opposite, there can be no learning, no thinking, no course-correcting, no give and take. If there was only one side to every pairing, how much fun would that be? 

I usually like to post each day by 11:59p in whatever time zone I call home for that night.

Tonight, I call the Eastern time zone home. And I’m pretty sure I failed at blogging by midnight.

In my defense, my laptop is still on California time. Instead of seeing the 1a hour in the lower-right of my screen, I see a lazy 10p hour. I’ve been cranking on a presentation for the past couple of hours, all while running on three hours of sleep, a giant coffee this morning, one banana at noon, a protein bar and water mid-afternoon, and sushi for dinner. Not too many meals of champions nestled in that clump of foodstuffs. 

I was about to turn in for the night, when I realized that I hadn’t yet posted. Tsk, tsk. The last time I was in New York this happened, as well. What gives, Empire State?

It’s been a long day. A good day, but a long day. Many miles were covered, many presentation iterations were drafted and much perspiration was shed during many uttered prayers while cabbing it from JFK to Manhattan.

My yawns are shaky. You know those yawns that are so deep that you sort of inhale in a staccato fashion? That’s me.

My eyes are red, and there is no Visine in my carry-on.

New York hotel style demands that every inch of space be used wisely, but in the case of the hotel room bathroom just around the corner from the desk where I sit, the shelf over the sink extends too far out over an already shallow basin, leaving maybe one — possibly two — inches of room to do what you need to do. Brush your teeth, wash your hands, face, etc. I made a mess in there tonight, and I whacked my head on the shelf when I leaned over while teeth-brushing. Love the sink design, hate that there’s no room to use it. Oh well.

That said, my room overlooks Grand Central Terminal. How many times have I ever said that? I haven’t. Such a landmark, such architecture. The hotel lobby here was gloriously decorated in silver and gold; shimmering holiday hues welcomed us as we walked through the doors. And now I have a comfy bed staring me down, begging me to hop in for more than those three hours of shut-eye that I got last night. So hop I shall.

Tonight I am thankful for save travels, for fun coworkers, for productive hours and for the fact that I’ll be home in less than 24 of them.

Do you ever say prayers?

I said a few tonight.

It was cold outside, but I was in the zone. I should’ve been home packing, but I wasn’t. Normally I’d care about tidying up the house, getting my luggage situated and hopping into bed at a decent hour so that I could be up by 0 dark 30 for the airport, but again…that pesky zone was calling me.

Low clouds and fog were moving in; I could see it just overhead against a dark sky. It was beautiful. I said a prayer of gratitude for sustained focus, and another for unwavering energy during today’s workday which ran well past 5 o’clock.

I continued on my course and said one of thanks for optimism, for an evening less cold than last night, for progress and for the stick-to-it-ness that has allowed me to tick off a few milestones.

My pace was steady, the smell of damp asphalt almost intoxicating. I tried to think of every possible thing for which to say “thanks.” Thanks that the blister I’d been getting regularly on the fourth toe of my right foot has stayed away and not reappeared over the past week. Thanks for a night without many cars to watch out for. Thanks that the dogs which bark their heads off as I pass by were quiet tonight.

Then I realized that I don’t do this — thanking — nearly enough.

I say prayers mostly during times of need, and not during times of good. Maybe those of you who pray do the same. Not that we ever consciously think this, but how is asking for help when we could use a hand more important than being thankful for all the good that comes into our lives day after day?

It’s not. They are both equally important.

Tonight I am simply thankful for gratitude in times of good, as well as for the realization that I need to say thanks more often.

On my way to work this morning, I was in the final stretch before reaching the office. The street I was on is wide — four, maybe five lanes across in places. Traffic is never lacking, and the squealing of brakes can usually be heard a few times a day as drivers’ defensive skills are put to the test.

In the midst of the hustle and chaos, one man stood on the side of the road.

He was tall, his jacket was filthy, his hair and beard were scraggly and he had a fixed stare on something in the distance behind all of us who passed him.

I almost didn’t notice him with everything else going on around me…buses stopping, cars pulling out of driveways, cars pulling into driveways, cars blocking intersections, cars merging without looking.

But just before I drove past him, I saw him leaning against a telephone pole. His right hand emerged from his sleeve; his index and pinky fingers were up, while his middle and ring fingers were being held down by his thumb. He was making the “rock on” sign, the “sign of the horns,” whatever you want to call it. His stare was unwavering. I didn’t see him blink. I don’t know where he was, but he wasn’t fully present.

As someone who often flashes the “rock on” fingers both in the middle of the day at work, and sometimes to nobody in particular except myself, say, when I celebrate a personal victory, I did not see horns. I saw a weirdly encouraging bit of inspiration from a stranger who probably could’ve used his own helping.

I don’t know how long he’d been standing there, nor do I know how long he remained there after I passed him. I don’t know how many other drivers noticed him, and of those who did, I don’t know how many gave him anymore thought throughout the day.

But I thought about him all afternoon, and was thankful for seeing him this morning. I don’t know if he knew what he was doing or what his intentions were, but he was somehow a constant reminder to be grateful for both the smallest blessings and our biggest issues in life. Being aware of the good and the bad can help us to rock on with balance, perspective and humility.

On a dark December night, there’s not much that can compete with a yard full of Christmas lights, inflatable Santas and twinkling wire deer sculptures.

Maybe a streetlight or the headlights of a passing car could rival the bright glow, but neither is very festive.

I passed by a house that had no lights up outside and no lights on inside. On any given day, there seems to be little going on there; not much life, not much upkeep, not much besides the bare minimum.

The fading glow of the streetlight behind me, however, illuminated a tiny dandelion in the house’s front yard; it was perhaps the most life at this particular address. The full, fluffy white seed head looked like a miniature firework exploding in the dark night, and it was one of the tallest dandelions I’ve ever seen. I wondered how much longer it would be before it would be visited by a lawnmower, or when we’d have our next windy day that would displace the white fluff forever.

While not an intentional “decoration,” it seemed like it was happy to be there and eager to get in on the action of the season. It certainly didn’t compare to the gaudy display a few houses away, but it did what it could to share what it had. It seemed to revel in the warmth from the distant streetlamp, treating it as its own Hollywood-esque spotlight.

Decorations come in all shapes and sizes during the holidays, some more extravagant than others. At the lifeless house, a tiny weed found a home, and it was doing its best to stand tall and share its beauty with the drab surroundings. At the end of the day, it’s never just about the final product or the outward appearance. It’s about your mettle, your motivation and your true intentions along the way regardless of your age, experience or ability.

Tonight I am thankful for the tiny dandelion and its determination to do the best it could, given its environment and lot in life. It won’t win any awards, but it’s sure to be known as making the most out of what it had to work with.