Here, in no particular order, are the things I’m grateful for:
My wife, who continues to love me more than I deserve, and when you find that marriage, it will be the one that truly completes you, especially if you are also complete inside yourself. Now, I feel I have both of those things. I learned a long time ago that I wasn’t longing to be owned. I was longing for a mate. I found her.
My friends on the ground, who love me beyond all measure even when I feel like I’m just waiting for The Doctor. In this metaphor, I believe wholeheartedly that I am Amy Pond. I love my Doctor beyond all measure, but Dana is my Centurion, the one that would wait 2,000 years… And then I flip the metaphor on its ear and I become The Doctor and Aaron becomes Craig, because it would be just like Aaron and I to lose track of a baby in the mall. I am also surprisingly like Matt Smith’s Doctor- I feel that I am twice as awkward and half as clever, but we both pull off the “giraffe in a bow tie” image quite nicely. Therefore, I am thankful to Doctor Who for giving me an additional world of description.
I am thankful for Shonda Rimes and the work she does on Scandal, because it is the highlight of my week to disappear into that world for an hour.
I am thankful for Pizza Night, because through it, everyone I’ve ever loved has sat with me on the couch and shared the communion of bread and tomato sauce….. both physically and metaphorically. There’s always love at supper time.
I am thankful for stories, both mine and everyone else’s- fictional or not. I love media not because I’m trying to be numbed out, but because cartoons and other TV shows are worlds to be explored. Podcasts are usually daring interviews with people I want to meet. I want to live on Battlestar Galactica. I want to have coffee with Frasier and Niles. I want to stand in the sun with Jake Ballard, and friggin’ adopt Quinn and Huck (because don’t you see that under their baddassery lies a need to be loved?). SuperGrover is my hero. If you doubt a mother’s love, you won’t after meeting Molly Weasley. If the TARDIS landed on my front lawn, the surprise would be in who popped out. It’s always going to be The Doctor, of course, but the fun is wondering which face loves YOU!
I am grateful to start the process of writing fiction. It sucks, there are plot holes all over the place that I don’t know how to fix yet, but my characters are worlds in which I can disappear. I can make them the people that I need them to be, and if that isn’t part of healing yourself, I don’t know what is. Through your characters, you are in charge of your own world, including getting the people you love to say the words you need to hear and be complete…. because you didn’t need them to process. You divided yourself in half and the conversation erased a scar.
I am thankful for dreams in the same way I am thankful for fictional media. The people that have hurt me the most show up, and we have eight uninterrupted hours to talk, relax, and just be together without the pressure of resolving anything. I go to my dreams to just *be.* There’s no fighting, there’s just love. For instance, Diane and I have had coffee every Wednesday for a year and a half. In those moments, I don’t remember abuse. I remember the way her hand feels on my head when she tousles my hair. In my dreams, there is more forgiveness and love to me than when I am awake. I go to sleep to remember the parts of Diane that make me, well, me….. if that makes any damn sense at all. It is 15 til 7:00 AM and I haven’t had a cup of coffee yet.
I am thankful for Aaron Sorkin, who created the legend of a knife passed down by a Boston silversmith named Paul Revere.
I am thankful for my Fanagans, who support and sustain me every day without fail from all corners of the earth.
I am thankful for the experience that pulled me out of The Matrix and taught me that my feelings matter, and I do have the ability to both speak truth to power and lead people in a way that I wasn’t sure I could. I’m no longer hanging on to ANYONE’s coattails. Not my dad’s. Not Susan’s. Not Tara’s. Not Christine’s. Not Lisa’s. I finally, finally, finally BOUGHT MY OWN DAMN COAT.
I am thankful for Meag, Tym, Lake, Wade, Deah, and Giles…. my Canadians. They are like me…….. and so not. They remind me of a different side of politics that I never knew I needed. To get past the politics of kindness.
Did I mention I was thankful for Dana? It’s because she lets me have the life I want to create and makes room for it. Allows me to be bigger than I thought I could be and stands by me even when I am a right jackass, which is most of the time. She says that our relationship evens out by the amount of crap she throws at me in return, but this is my blog. If she wants to say that we’re even, she’s going to have to sign up for WordPress on her own. :)