Some people say the grass is always greener, but sometimes it’s less about the grass and more about the grasp.

The grass will always beckon, always tell you that what you have isn’t good enough. It tells you that you can do better. It might even make you feel a little bad about your status in life.

The grass flaunts its color; we’re impressed by its vibrancy. We marvel at its manicured appearance that says to us, “This, too, can be yours.”

The grasp, however, reminds us that the best parts in life aren’t found when we’re envying or coveting, they’re found when we listen to ourselves and go after what we want, not what we think others expect us to have, and not what we think will make us more appealing or more ideal. Even if we fail in reaching our goal, the process of trying to grasp and take the reins on our dreams contains lessons that the grass does not.

Tonight I am thankful for the grass which reaches out to us and tries to bring us over to its side, but I am more thankful for the grasping we do in the direction of our own aspirations. The grasp teaches us if we allow it, guides if we ask it and it speaks if we’re willing to listen.

On occasion, I’ll be in the middle of doing something and will feel this big ball of agita start to build up inside of me.

Sometimes I’m watching TV. Other times I’m listening to music, or playing it. I might be writing, or I might be doing nothing except sitting and thinking. I could be cooking, showering, pulling up weeds in the garden, shopping or driving.

It’s something that completely wrecks the mindset I was in a few moments earlier. I’ll be going along minding my own business and meandering to and fro, when something sidetracks me; I find myself straddling the fine line between feeling merely unsettled and being undeniably bothered.

Where did this come from? What gives? It’s like a little miniature boiling point.

At first I try to solve the issue by shifting my location or task, but the pesky cloud follows me from room to room, from street to highway or from lathering to rinsing.

When I’m on the couch, reality TV is the culprit much of the time. Not surprisingly, there’s a reason that the most drama I prefer to handle involves only knowing who’s about to be chopped, or whether the house a couple is hunting for will actually be theirs: there’s not a lot of drama to begin with.

Other times I’ve been thinking about a work project that needs to get done, or a personal project that still has loose ends lingering. Their lack of completion and thinking about the boxes I need to check in order to finish the task will spark an anxious feeling, something distinctly towards the unsettled end of the spectrum. Annoyingly, it seems I often fly past the root of my tension at around 160 mph and focus on the tension itself. That is, until I consciously stop and think, “Wait, what’s the problem again?”

Like sunlight breaking through an overcast sky, the answer is usually clear. “Your short story isn’t finished,” Brain tells me. Heart replies, “Oh. That’s it? So sit down and finish it.”

Brain says, “These people on TV are annoying.” Heart replies, “Change the channel and find something that makes your soul sing.”

Brain says, “Work is going to get the best of you this week.” Heart replies, “Please. It will only get the best of you if you let it.”

Brain says, “Your story isn’t very good.” Heart replies, “Keep writing and stop overanalyzing.”

Brain will let you reach your boiling point, whereas Heart can often times temper the emotion with rationality – for me, anyway. Fittingly, the latter is just a heartbeat away.

Today I am thankful for the spirited battle between brain versus heart, and for being able to deny the boiling point just as quickly as I choose to realize its cause.

If the moon could talk to us, I sometimes wonder what it would say.

I wonder if it would address humanity as a whole, or comment on our individual days. If it was a conscious entity, I wonder if it would shine more brightly when it felt pleased with our contributions, and whether its phases and moonless nights would instead be tied to disappointment.

I imagine that the nights when it’s shrouded in a misty cape could be indicative of tears it would cry at our lack of compassion for each other. On mornings when it’s setting in the west as the sun comes up in the east, I imagine its playful side coming out, and that it has just spent a nighttime playing tag or hide and seek with its friend.

When it’s a half moon, I wonder if it’s maybe being a little coy and trying to grab our attention so that our gaze shifts from the trenches to the heavens, from the common to the magical. I think it would tell us that we spend too much time in the weeds and not enough time getting our head in the clouds.

Some people see different things when they look up at the moon. Some see a halo of white around it, while others see pale blue or soft pink. If the moon could read its audience the way a presenter or public speaker does, perhaps it changes its colors to the one that most resonates with the viewer. Blue may move some, while pink inspires others. Maybe those who see white will feel a sense of renewal, of peace — at the exact time they most need to feel it.

I know what the moon is, but imagining it as more makes me grateful for the imaginations we’ve all been blessed with, for the sense of wonder we’re sometimes wrapped up in and for inspiration that can come from any place, at any time.

There isn’t much about Christmas that I don’t love. Well, maybe just one thing. One thing which is actually multiple things: throngs of insane shoppers.

I can handle a crowd just fine. After all, The Happiest Place on Earth is just around the corner from here, I’ve braved jam-packed beaches on California summer days, traversed the streets of LA surrounded by a buh-jillion other drivers and I’ve been to my share of concerts. But when the madness sets in and my fellow man’s people skills and common courtesies falter, it takes away from the season a tad.

I’ve been tuned into 24/7 Christmas songs since before the week before Thanksgiving, however, and they always provide a nice recharging opportunity and reminder of the season’s true meaning. Rough day? Listen to Christmas music. Run over by a shopping cart while you were out? Listen to Christmas music. Feeling down? Listen to Christmas music. Headache? Listen to Christmas music. OK, so it hasn’t done much for my days-long noggin pain yet, but I’m sure the pounding will ease up one of these hours.

Today the casa saw something it hasn’t seen in years. Christmas lights. And I’m talking the old-school, large bulbs (C9 sized, to be exact), all in white…well, clear. The house looks like it’s right out of Disneyland’s Main Street, trimmed in beautiful glass bulbs and radiating warmth.

People may try our patience during the holidays, but for me the important part is remembering the joy given off by the little things. A holiday-scented candle, a Christmas tree lit up and saying hello to the outside world from its place in the front window, the smell of sweets and assorted goodness baking, and white lights enveloping the house in a happy glow.

Tonight I am thankful for the spirit of the season, to my rad parents whose expertise in Christmas lights paid off big time today, and for the joys found in the common and the simple. As the lyrics go, yes, He will bring us goodness and light, but it is also all around us in a multitude of shapes and sizes. How lucky and blessed we are.

Having worked in the racing and automotive advertising space for more than a decade, manufacturers’ taglines often come to mind, thanks to years of compiling and reviewing the competitive landscape. Some are old, some are still around. But one I saw on TV tonight made me realize how hard many advertisers work to sell a brand, while we rarely work as hard to sell ourselves and see the things on our to-do lists get done.

Are we always pursuing perfection? Few can say yes.

Are we built tough? The way situations and people sometimes get the better of us, it doesn’t seem that way.

Does inspiration come standard? It comes in waves, at best.

Do we put people first? Ourselves, maybe. People as a whole, probably not so much.

If life is a journey, are we remembering to enjoy the ride? Not always.

Are we always moving forward? No. Sometimes it’s backwards, sometimes we’re idle. In my opinion, the latter is the worst because it implies no action of any kind has taken place.

Are we always driven by what’s inside? Often we’re driven by greed, revenge, jealousy or selfishness.

Are we going places? If we’re lucky, we have the time to make our own pursuits a priority and we don’t just sit around giving all our time to push a company or brand in the right direction.

We could learn a lot from brands. We’re often times moved by their creative and all of their efforts intended to catch our eye. But does their shiny, sparkly tagline resonate in our own life? Probably not as much as we’d like.

Tonight I am thankful for realizing the need for personal branding – something that I can use as a compass to make sure I get back on track when my attention gets diverted, and when my focus becomes clouded by the everyday.

I couldn’t tell you much about the last time I packed up Christmas, except for the fact that I was clearly heartbroken over having to do so.

It was likely the first weekend in January, and I was likely still flying high thanks to the Vicodin from my then-recent knee surgery. I remember decorating (pre-surgery) but I don’t remember putting it all away. Oh, pain medication…why couldn’t you also numb the loss of Christmas?

As I started unboxing things today, in between sneezing my head off from my cold (and/or the 12-month accumulation of dust I’d brought in from the garage), little bits of last Christmas came back to me.

I unboxed Christmas stockings, a recycled tradition that I brought back last year after not having had them since childhood. I unboxed the small Nativity for the fireplace mantle, along with a six-foot, shimmering, frilly strand of gold garland that I’d purchased at the same time. Christmas was returning.

All the Christmas ornaments were, more or less, the same — save for the cocktail-themed collection my mom bought me last year and that I completely forgot about. I was excited to see them again.

So many things that I didn’t want to say goodbye to were once again in front of me, and I’ve no idea where the year went. I was so convinced that this Christmas would take an eternity to arrive, but it feels like it showed up in the blink of an eye.

Tonight I am thankful that my most favorite time of the year is once again upon us. On one hand, it’s a nice reminder that time continues to pass, even though we think that day, that moment, that milestone will never get here. On the other hand, it’s a reminder that time continues to pass, even though we sometimes hope it could slow down just a little bit.

I was a little surprised to see it, being that it must have made its way past many a hair-netted employee.

It tumbled into my bowl and stared back at me; the visual of a cyclops came to mind. Around it were perfect, pale examples if what it could’ve been, but maybe it craved its own path in the factory. I imagine it going rogue and setting off on an adventure, one which ultimately led to repeat baking, giving it a dark, Joisy-esque appearance. Tres unnatural.

Ever struck out on your own and gotten burned? I have – plenty of times. You think it’s the right thing at the time, and then you get chewed up and spit out. You regroup, heal, then sometimes find yourself back in a similar situation a year or two later. As though all memory has left you, you dive in again, get burned again, but you come out alive again, too.

Tonight I am thankful for the Burnt Cheerio and its reminder that adventures might beat us up every now and again. In the end, however, we often come tumbling back out and, if we’re lucky, we’ll land among friends who welcome us back with open arms.

“A failure to meet a certain standard; a fault or defect.”

Defect? Ouch.

Shortcomings can be pretty burdensome things. They’ll keep you up at night, affect your sense of self-esteem and make you question even your most simple actions and thoughts.

The worst is when shortcomings aren’t from your own doing – they’re ones you’ve inherited from someone else’s comments, situations you’ve been in or from just the quiet judgement that others radiate and that we pick up on.

Still other shortcomings are formed within – in our hearts and minds, and they come from our own intense scrutiny. Being hyper-aware can be annoying, but if it’s harnessed and used as a means to improve, are the shortcomings we perceive in ourselves really shortcomings, or are they opportunities?

As for those shortcomings that others bestow upon us, they’re most likely their own – not ours. And if a shortcoming is defined as a failure to meet a certain standard, whose standards should be more important than our own? Certainly not theirs.

Tonight I am thankful for my shortcomings – those not given to me by anyone else – and for knowing that I can work them out for myself and reach my own standards in my own time…not on anyone else’s clock. And there’s certainly no fault in that.

As of tonight, this blog has 7,260 views.

It’s hardly a number to write home about in blog-land, but it’s 7,260 more views than I had the moment this blog became a public space.

I’ve wondered before about who reads these, who cares, who is affected by them, who reads them out of boredom and who reads them because they might have accidentally come across them.

I wonder if anyone has ever been offended by anything I’ve written but, truth be told, it wouldn’t keep me up at night if somebody was. One of my writing vows was to be authentic and not edit too much – not necessarily to be PC at all times.

Views happen day in and day out, 24/7/365. They happen when you’re on the clock, off the clock, online or offline. They happen when people are watching, obviously, and when you think nobody is.

Seeing the number of blog views go up day after day is a glaring reminder of how many other views may go unnoticed by each of us on a daily basis. And while the outcome of a storm is important, so is our conduct during it. Doing good us important, but so is the motive behind it.

Tonight I am thankful for the reminder that views happen whether we want them to or not, and whether we’re aware of them or not. Some views can make us, while some have the quite possibly have the potential to break us. But views are views are views…and so long as good is the backbone of everything people might see, could any outcome be that bad?

Having the flu is one of the worst things ever. Having it after a trip to Vegas is just plain annoying, as one can expect to receive texts asking if I’m reeeeeally home sick. Yes, I am. Feel free to swing by later – I’d be happy to infect you.

I had tickets to see one of my favorite authors, David Sedaris, speak tonight at Chapman University. Well, missed that.

I was going to take my mom with me, and dinner beforehand was going to be her treat since I’d snagged the tickets. Instead, her treat was a grocery bag of Diet 7UP, Saltines and Gatorade that she picked up for me and left in the kitchen, all while I was holed away and mid-nap in my bedroom, nearly drowning in a pool of sweat. Mmm.

I ache. Everywhere. I’m cold, I’m hot (some would say this is typical of females, but I disagree), my head is pounding, and standing up to take 1.5 steps to turn my bedside light on or off is equivalent to a climber’s attempt to scale Everest. Never before have I wished that I had my lights connected to The Clapper the way I wish for such an invention tonight.

About an hour ago, I briefly considered not blogging. Curse you, flu! How dare such thoughts enter my head. Fortunately I downloaded the awesome Posterous app (shameless plug) to blog with ease while in Vegas, so I had no excuse not to blog. Two nights ago I was blogging from high above the Vegas Strip. Tonight, I blog from my bed and the semi-tangled mess of blankets that surround me. I’m flat on my back, my arms are sore from holding this iPhone and blogging with it mere inches from my face, and my arms are freezing. Probably time to turn in, lest I blog from a blanket-made cave.

All that aside, tonight I am thankful that this didn’t hit me on my five-hour drive home yesterday, and for my mama who, without question, threw on her nurse’s hat, shopped and delivered for me. Christmas is still over a month away, but today’s crackers and liquids were enough to make me mumble an audible, “Oh, thank God” when I finally shuffled into the kitchen and saw them. Christmas in November, indeed.