Five acts of gratitude

1. The quiet dark of a room when the only light is my computer screen and the only sound is my fingers making words on keys.

2. The empathy of a three year old when he notices a bug bite (which he pronounces with a German accent), looks at you and says "oh no" with so much sincerity it makes your heart ache with love, finds his silkie and wraps it around your wound as if the love and softness can heal all. And it can.

He meant that feeling something was never simply a state of submission but always, also, a process of construction.

[...] We care in order to be cared for. We care because we are porous. The feelings of others matter, they are like matter: they carry weight, exert gravitational pull. 

-Leslie Jamison, "The Empathy Exams"

3. The elder gentleman who stops you at Carl's on your way back from the bathroom and says, "Excuse me, miss, but have you ever lived in Tennessee?" It's a Monday, and you've been drinking--but just two beers. Because you're honest you say, "No, but I did live in South Carolina for a few years." He doesn't miss a beat before responding, "Cause you're the only ten I see." You laugh and say thank you and mean it.

4. The neighbor who asks about the art in your living room and you get a chance to point out the pieces by your friends. "Waving Goodbye" by Sara Hamilton, "Yellow Energy" by Kerri Ammirata, "John Petrucci" by Steve Snell.

5. The friend you ride tandem with for the first time, who takes the back, who trusts your steering, who says "I got you" when you slow to stop because her feet touch the ground and yours don't, who understands the metaphor of teamwork.