Marilynne Robinson wrote about it.

Motley Crue penned lyrics about it, and Ozzy crooned to mama that he’d be returning to it.

Many people want to buy it, fill it and be able to pass it down someday.

There are sections of department stores devoted to it, it holds a fairly important role in the nursery rhyme “To Market” and it’s likely the environment that has the most significance during our childhood.

Home is a word known by most, but which unfortunately sometimes lacks warmth and meaning for others.

It all began in Michigan. The mitten state would prompt me to start ticking off the calendar dates the day I moved into my dorm room for the semester. Mine is a home that has seen my first day of kindergarten, years of corny Halloween costumes (read: Annie, a red Crayon and a fairy ballerina),  piano lessons, clarinet lessons, baton and ballet and guitar lessons, countless nights of watching Lakers games with my dad, and I learned to braid by using strands of rope which hung down off the bottom of a hanging planter on our back porch. This home has seen chalk drawings on driveways, accidental rocket-propelled squirts of t-shirt puffy paint — thanks to a clog in its tip that I was determined to work free — that shot up to the living room ceiling and stayed there for years, sleepovers and my first day of driving.

It’s been the first boyfriend house, the prom house, the homemade birthday cake house, the let’s-make-Shrinky-Dinks-in-the-oven house, the house when I was little I couldn’t wait to leave and — now that I’m older — the house that I can’t wait to come home to every day.

Its front windows with their plantation shutters perfectly frame a Christmas tree in December, or allow the tiniest glimpse of the baby grand nestled into the corner of the living room. The scene in my mind’s eye is always one where I see it from the outside and it’s giving off a warm glow on a chilly, gray evening.

The power of home, for me, has always stood for sense of peace and calm, and it’s been a place for me to retreat to after a long day. 

When I was younger, I remember we used to look at new housing tracts, often times walking through model homes just for fun. I used to think how much fun it would be to move into a new house — maybe even one with a second story — and it stayed that way for years. Until Michigan.

Michigan gave me a new appreciation for home, and it probably was the first time in my life I suspected that leaving this house would be close to unbearable. Ever since then, even when I was only living 40 miles away, it would still call me back most weekends.

Tonight I am thankful for the years of warm memories, happy holidays, joyous birthdays and the daily gathering of family around the dinner table. While I’ve made this house my own and have the great fortune of renting it from my parents, I may still leave it someday…but the foundation of what a home is to me means that I can recreate it anywhere.

Whenever I’ve written something, the hardest part for me has always been coming up with a suitable title.

During my high school years, I remember turning in stories when it came time to pass our homework forward. Time after time, I’d get my papers back and most would have a comment about the title I’d chosen.

“This isn’t a soap opera — needs better title.”

Hmpf, how did I know? I’ve never watched soap operas, nor have I had any desire to, so far be it from me to know whether I was being soap-opera-esque or not.

The comments would continue following each assignment.

“Plot is more exciting than what title leads me to believe. Consider revising.”

“Title does not do story justice. Revision needed.”

“Boring title. Revise.”

Well, pardon et moi. At the end of the day, the constructive criticism only made me fear the title portion of writing anything. Even these blogs. There have been a few posts over the past 42 days which have been more aptly named than others. I usually fill in the title portion at the very end after I’ve finished writing a post, and some titles are pulled from what I’ve written. Others are hastily crafted simply because I needed to post something by midnight and no better title was coming to mind. Needless to say, this title thing has been a neverending journey for me.

Today I was thinking about screenplays, stageplays and some of their titles I’ve heard my fellow students come up with — and I realized that we’re all in the same boat. Some titles are better than others, and those that are the weaklings find themselves picked on and critiqued by the class as needing to be better…more interest-piquing.

My thoughts continued, and I started thinking about our own titles. Not in the sense of son, daughter, friend or even titles in the workplace, but what they’d be if we were a performance or a movie.

Would it be something that indicates a work in progress? Would it be a part two, three or even four as we find life taking us down different roads? Would it be a simple statement that illustrates the area of our life that takes up the most time (The Advertiser, The CEO, The Pianist, The Writer) or would it be something with a more ethereal tone to it such as The Dreamer, The Traveler or The Soul Seeker?

The thought process reminded me of one of my favorite quotes. It’s one that was artfully scrawled across a beautiful poster that I had in my dorm room most of my college years, and it’s one that I saw earlier today: “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams and live the life you’ve imagined.” It’s a Henry David Thoreau quote, and the slightly longer version includes another statement that says — if we do this — we’ll be met “with a success unexpected in common hours.”

I find it to be a beautiful, inspiring and spirit-calming quote. It’s something that says that if we just “do,” we might actually “be.”

(That part’s for my mom.)

And even if we’re constantly on a journey — or if we’re lucky enough to be the person we envision or to have the life that we dream — it seems to follow that our “title” will fall naturally from there.

Tonight I am thankful for the knowledge that a title doesn’t have to be something we keep forever, and that it can constantly be revised, improved upon and changed altogether — the same way we can do with our path in life.

I was talking with my cousin today about how I occasionally question my career. Not so much advertising, but automotive advertising.

I’ve always considered myself a car person, and while I love advertising, those two words together make me suspect that I’ll look back on my life and wonder what my contribution really was.

I helped sell cars? That’s it?

“Well, I suspect that if you made a list, you’d find that you have a number of accomplishments and achievements throughout your life on there,” he said.

I thought about it for a second. Sure, I guess he’s probably right. But are they true contributions to the world and to humanity?

“And I suspect that you probably have quite an influence over the people around you.”

Hm, maybe. Maybe not. I don’t really know, and honestly, I wondered — if I did have “quite an influence” over the people around me — whether knowing would be such a burden that I’d then begin to question my every move.

“I think you should start a list. You don’t have to complete it all in one sitting, but you should start one. Just a list. Journals are good, too, but go with the list. And don’t forget, you can’t be too hard on yourself. There’s a whole world out there waiting to be critical toward you. Don’t you be one of them.”

I spent more time this afternoon thinking about what he’d said. What if I got to my final days and the list had few heavy-hitting items on it, but was instead populated with small, inconsequential things that only meant something to me?

I thought how sad it must be for someone who might survive me to look at it and say, “This is all she did? I thought there’d be more.”

But then I realized that if that ever happened, hopefully that person would take my measly list and vow to do better.

To do more.

To encourage others to do more.

And then I realized that even in death, a life can be meaningful. If inspiration is transferred from one who has passed on to a soul still living, where is the harm in that?

There isn’t any.

Tonight I am thankful for my cousin who reminded me to go easier on myself, and to start a list — if not for any other purpose than to remind myself of my personal achievements and, perhaps better, inspire younger generations.

Someday.

One afternoon a few months ago, I was minding my own business and driving down a relatively busy street when I noticed a man lying on the sidewalk.

It was an odd scene. The same way you’d see a few leaves, a discarded soda can, a crumpled piece of newspaper or some other random element on the sidewalk, here was a grown man. I wasn’t sure if he was unconscious, dead, OK or not OK (likely not, because really — how many times have you just found yourself horizontal on the sidewalk as traffic passed by you?). I didn’t know what to do, other than call 911.

When I called, they seemed more interested in getting an idea of what specific landmarks were around the intersection I’d already provided to them (everything from whether I was near a gas station, a particular building, a sign, a store, a restaurant).

Sheesh.

Aside from the train tracks that passed over that same intersection, I mean — really — what other landmark does someone need other than to just simply look for the grown man sprawled out on the sidewalk along the south side of the street?

I wondered how many cars had passed by and done something. Or nothing. I wondered if any city buses had seen him. I wondered if he’d fallen from the train tracks above, and whether he had any internal injuries. I wondered how long help would take to arrive.

About 20 minutes later, I figured I’d gotten my answer when I heard sirens approaching. I wasn’t 100% sure because I was inside a building, but I could only hope that they were there for him.

I haven’t thought of the man since that day, but earlier this evening I drove past that same intersection and the memory came back to me. That day I said a quiet prayer for him. No matter who he was, how he’d gotten there — whether at the hands of someone else, due to a medical condition or maybe some time spent with the bottle — nobody deserves to have nothing else around them except for concrete, cars speeding by and the sun beating down over arms and legs that appeared to have just given out beneath his weight.

Tonight I am thankful for the memory of this man and the gentle reminder that sometimes the line between life and death — while it can’t be seen — is a delicate one. Whether literally, emotionally or otherwise, helping someone to err on the side of life — even if you’re not sure of the final outcome — is one of the most powerful things we as humans are able to do for each other.

Sometimes we look at life in totality and it can seem so daunting.

Other times we break it down into more digestible chunks, but ones which still have the potential to cause weariness. So many months till this, so many weeks till that, only a few more years until a milestone is achieved.

I’ve written before about the pitfalls of fast-forwarding and the pleasures in pressing the pause button, but I realized today that there’s a happy medium: the inspiration that comes from those tiny achievements and little mile markers that you reach.

They’re the moments of small victories that keep you going until you make it to the next one. There’s value in focusing on one day each week for a weigh-in, then on the one the week after to see how much more progress you’ve made. There’s good that can come from exercising a sore knee, regardless of whether you want to or not, because you’ll be able to look back in a week’s time and realize the good it’s done, and that you’re able to bend it a few more degrees.

There’s a solid benefit to sometimes keeping your head down and your feet moving, one in front of the other, because sometimes that’s all we really need to do: keep going. We know the task is long, it’s arduous, it’s irritating, frustrating and tedious, but the same way “the early bird gets the worm” rings true, so, too, does “keep on keeping on.”

Whatever your method for movement, whether daily, weekly or some other timeframe, those little points just down the road in front of us can help us keep our eye on the prize. If you think you’re not making progress, just look at where you were last week.

And then last month.

And then last year.

Patience during the process is key. But keeping on when you feel like you’re making no progress is crucial…because you are.

Tonight I am thankful for the reminder that we didn’t get to where we are overnight, and that if we want to make a change, all it takes is time, dedication and patience.

Six focus groups, six people in each. While there were often people who agreed with others in their own group, at times my head was spinning from the different perspectives. Sometimes it felt like there were far more than 36 total viewpoints over the last two days.

In our tiny room among a myriad of twinkling, high-rise buildings with employees still visibly buzzing inside them even at this late hour, our little mission seems so tiny and insignificant. We’re not saving lives, not changing the world, not inventing anything. We’re merely listening and figuring out how best to communicate the message we ultimately want to convey.

Through the observation glass from our darkened back room, six subjects in front of me are chatting with the moderator about their opinions and thoughts. The windows in their room reveal the city outside. It makes me think that if our small corner of this particular office building can hold so many points of view and yield so many different takeaways, imagine what we’d get from the six other people in the office that’s visible directly across the street from us.

And then what if six more people were in the office to the left of them, plus six more to the right of them, then six more still in the office above them and another six in the office below them. What if, for every office that’s visible, more people could be seen sharing their thoughts, ideas, criticisms and opinions.

What if, even within the interior offices, more people were sharing theirs?

My point is that we are made up of an entire planet where we all have opinions; some of us live in parts of the world where we are more free to share them than those living elsewhere.

Others of us are so vocal that we’re called to change a nation, and we enter into the world of politics.

Some are educators at heart and are called to teach. Or to raise children.

Some find the limelight and showcase their voice on daytime talk shows.

We’re also people who, while we have our own opinions, also process things in our own, unique-to-me sort of way. And despite how clear we advertising types think we make a message, interpretation is subject to the processing of others.

Politicians’ words are subject to the same.

As are the words of our loved ones.

And friends.

Never before has the potential for error been higher. It increases every day as our attention is more and more split, whether due to the latest technology or a busy schedule that spreads us too thin, and with each new person who enters this world. The stakes are high for our communication to be direct and to the point.

I marvel at the role our moderator takes with each group: moderator-turned-psychologist is no easy feat. He manages to get to the why, the how and the “what if” in a way that sheds new light on our testing materials with each passing statement. So tonight I am thankful for those 36 individuals who freely gave their time and their opinions for the good of our campaign, and for the realization that with so many types of input coming at us at all times, and in so many different tonalities, communication with those that mean the most to us is a skill worth honing — and there’s nothing tiny or insignificant about that at all.

The thing about staying in a high-rise hotel in downtown Chicago is that, without seeming creepy or voyeuristic, you get these interesting glimpses into the lives of others.

I took a break from my primping routine this morning and opened my blinds, coffee in hand, to look out at the skyline that surrounded me. I watched some construction workers toil in the cold, Illinois air; they were working on top of a building, and I imagined how frigid the breeze off Lake Michigan must’ve been.

This afternoon at the focus group facility, I looked down from the 7th floor and saw a tiny Mini Cooper with its checkerboard roof zoom around a corner; I wondered where it was going. I saw people hustling down Michigan Avenue during their lunch break, and looked across the street into a neighboring skyscraper, only to see boring, white offices with nary a poster, devoid of trinkets and with robots slaving away.

I noticed the lack of creativity, the absence of color — both literally and figuratively. It made me appreciate for a moment, regardless of how chaotic the advertising world may be at times, my job.

This evening, my co-workers and I shared a beverage at Whiskey Sky atop the W Hotel. We took in our surroundings: the immaculate bar, the odd and tres swinger-esque couples, the skyline. We looked out into high-rises that were new to our gaze, and we saw a man on one floor of a condo building engaged in a lively phone conversation. We saw another man a floor above Mr. Lively, his face illuminated by the computer screen that he was glued to. I looked up a few floors and saw a cluttered residence, worthy of a Hoarders episode.

The funny thing about life in general is that if we pause to behold the world around us, it inspires a gratitude that we never knew. My life, while quiet, prone to routine and with a propensity for cocooning myself and being a homebody, is uninspiring to most…but comfortable to me. And today as I glimpsed the lives of others mere blocks from where I’m staying, I felt a new respect for my peaceful existence and took comfort in the fact that while as interesting (or not) as others’ lives may be around me, mine is my own — for better or for worse. I can change it if I want to, can leave it alone if I want to, and go to sleep each night — assuming I’ve done those things — knowing it’s exactly as I want it to be.

Tonight I am thankful for the power of influence over my own life, and for the ability to make it what I want — either due to inspiration from others, or from my silent, peaceful dreams each night.

I consumed more Cooking Channel goodness on the plane today. En route to Chicago from Orange County, I caught some of chef Michael Symon’s show where he was making a Nutella Espresso Mousse.

!!!

It looked as good during its preparation as it did when it was finally complete, but during the process, Symon said of his mixing tools, “You gotta lick the spoon. It’s not living unless you lick the spoon.”

So true.

It made me think about the many times we deny ourselves so much. We’ll pass on that brownie bite (or ten) because of the calories. We’ll pass on a well-crafted cheese plate because we don’t want to deal with the gym the next day. We’ll skip the lobster, but will find other ways to consume as many calories because we didn’t have that tasty crustacean in the first place (and, for the record, they’ll be less-enjoyable calories). We ixnay the brie, scoff at the baguette, skimp on food calories — all while munching on the [boring] rest.

Friends, I am here to tell you that there is nothing more enjoyable than a viognier and a cheese plate while you’re waiting to board.

Or, if you’re not a wine or cheese fan, then there’s nothing more enjoyable than whatever your favorite dish is.

Homemade mac n’ cheese? Have it. In moderation.

A wedge of manchego? Nibble then save. You’ll thank yourself tomorrow when you’re able to have it again.

Perhaps you’re skipping breakfast and lunch so that lobster can be enjoyed for dinner? Hey, whatever it takes to savor the finer things.

Point is, we all deserve to order the lobster. And we all should feel okay about licking the spoon.

We don’t need to do it in excess, as I clearly have been doing lately, but we do need to allow ourselves the childlike pleasures that we once had when ice cream dripped onto our clothing and we didn’t care.

Or when we’d make messy brownie or cookie sundaes and wonder what adults were talking about when we’d overhead them say, “I’m gonna regret this tomorrow.” What do they mean? What in the world could there be to regret about a sundae?!

Licking the spoon and keeping lobster on the horizon are metaphors for other things in life, as well. What’s your lobster? What’s on your spoon?

Go find it.

Savor it, enjoy it, be content in knowing that you deserve it. Tonight I’m thankful for the tasty treats that we’d take for granted if they came our way every day, so I will sleep well knowing that they don’t.

And take advantage of them when they do.  

A year ago, I was rear-ended by a woman who spoke no English, had an expired license and out-of-date insurance info. My deductible was waived because although I was able to give her info to my insurance company, they had nothing current on her. In the end, I got a new, free bumper which was pristine and glorious.

Until today.

Because this year’s was a hit and run and I had none of the other driver’s info, the good news is that I’m still not at fault and it doesn’t adversely affect my insurance. The bad news is that I have to pay my $500 deductible to get it repaired. Oh well. Since this will be my second, I figure a $250 per-bumper-average isn’t too shabby.

I was thinking earlier about the little frustrating things in life. Why bother taking care of something when someone else is not only going to wreck it, but not ‘fess up to it? Sheesh.

When I called earlier to file a claim with my insurance company, I was impressed by how helpful they were. I was told that I’d get a call back from a rep by end of day tomorrow, which seemed fair enough. Granted, I’ll be en route to Chicago and any call I’d receive would likely get sent straight to voicemail, at which point which I’d land, return the call, get their voicemail, and then we’d inevitably end up in a week-long game of telephone tag.

Nope.

During the Super Bowl, I got a call from the rep. She asked if it was a good time. At that moment, the Giants couldn’t really seem to get it in gear, so yep — it was as good of a time as any.

We went over the details, she confirmed my repair location of choice (same as last year — you’re welcome, Longo), reserved a rental car for me, sent me a few emails to confirm everything we discussed, and I was good to go.

Again, I was struck by how helpful this woman was. No longer was the bumper the focus of my day, it was her helpfulness. Her working on a weekend — gladly. Her kindness. Her interest in making sure I was all set.

I got to thinking some more about the many things we have that we likely take for granted. Damaged bumper thanks to a hit-and-run? At least we have cars, and at least it still runs. It could’ve been so much worse. There could’ve been body damage, airbags could’ve deployed, I could’ve been injured. But none of that happened.

And at least we’re not living in a country where carbombs are a daily reality, and which would do far more damage entirely — not only to the car, but also to human life.

Irritated by the person that didn’t own up to his or her mistake that caused the situation you’re in? At least there are people who can help you make the best of it, and who do so with a smile. At the end of the day, we can let it suck the character out of us, or we can consider it a character-building experience. Your choice.

Frustrated by your morning commute? It means others are also going to work. And the more people who are employed, the better our economy.

Bent out of shape with some aspect of your job? It gives you a paycheck. At the end of the day, if you don’t like it, you can still change it. Find your happiness. Everyone deserves it.

Tonight I am thankful for the shift in my mindset that helped put things into perspective. Annoying to be dealing with bumper shenanigans again, but in the grand scheme of everything, its importance is probably a one…on a scale of one to 100.

There’s a house that I like to drive past when I’m on my way home from the grocery store. It’s in a quiet neighborhood, lush with trees and well-established foliage, and it sits on a large corner lot tucked away from the only slightly more busy streets around it. The home is a sprawling, single-story French Normandy, and I want to buy it someday.

I was thinking earlier today about the whole, “If you build it, they will come” quote. If I dream it, will it eventually be mine? I tend to think so.

I don’t believe the home will be put on the market anytime soon. But if it was, I may need to fight their children for it — or maybe not, as I’m not 100% sure whether they have kids. That said, while their USC house and garden flags may indicate that one of the owners is a graduate of said university, I think it’s moreso the doing of a son, daughter, or both.

The home won’t be purchased anytime soon. If it was listed tomorrow, the thing has a value of around $900K, as I recently found out by looking it up online (just slightly out of my price range)…so I’d need to let someone else purchase it, then stalk (not literally, natch) its next owner. The thought of its current owners selling to someone else besides me makes me cringe. Would it still have its manicured, maintained charm? Would they paint it? Would they add on? Tear it down? Care for it? Would it remain a home, or get down-graded to a house? Oh, the worry.

For me, the power of imagining something and exercising a sort of patient focus as I plod towards it, one foot in front of the other, day after day, is a rewarding journey. Even if something is almost within reach and the tides turn, something else — usually better — is just around the corner. I find that life has a funny way of allowing that to happen, so long as we stick to our dreams.

Today I am thankful for the things in life which give us focus and which fan the fires of resolve to keep our dreams in our sights. Whether big or small, distant or close, the magic of a dream tempered by the faithfulness to our desire for achieving it, can lead us on the most amazing journey.