I walk around my home, moving my body as I walk, nudging my heart rate up. The view out the windows around the home is bright and cheery. It is cold outside. It has been a while since I went out of my home at all. Outside of the one time in a day when I grab mail from the mailbox, I am content to be boxed in. I do not miss much of the outside world other than as an opportunity to tune out the noise inside my head.
A friend messages me to let me know to check my mailbox. I find a journal and a card. I am blown by her thoughtfulness. One day I tell my children I do not want to feel like I did last year on my birthday, the next day my Christmas stocking looks suspiciously big. Inside are a pair of used fuzzy socks, a river rock painted with a heart and some odds and ends, tokens of love from my children.
I get messages from friends I have made online. Sometimes, they share what is going on in their lives, most times though, it is just to say “Hi!” or “I am thinking of you.”
These little things add up and one day, like today, I wake up bursting with gratitude for all the little things. I tear up. I write a note to drop in my gratitude jar. I am just glad to be alive, to be present, to just be.