“I’m still thanking all the stars, one by one.” -Marissa Meyer, Winter

                Somewhere in my early twenties, I started spending a few minutes every day writing a list of what I was grateful for in that moment. I’ve heard it called a gratitude journal. It’s been a couple years since I really continued that practice, but for this next month, I’m going to pick it back up. Here’s my first entry.

                I’m grateful for the cold air that seeped in to the room where I was sleeping, late last night. And for my blanket. I’m grateful for the sound of a dog’s footsteps this morning, quiet and curious in their exploring. I’m grateful for my nieces and all their curiosity, their determination in being themselves, their joy in running. I’m grateful for the breakfast I haven’t eaten yet. 
                I’m grateful to have so much time this summer with my family, and for the friendships that span years, sometimes as thin as threads of I-miss-you and sometimes as thick as forests we wander through. I’m grateful for blowing my nose. It’s so much fun. And then I get to breathe. I’m grateful for dirt beneath my feet and rock beneath the dirt, holding it up into ridges in the nearby park where I’ve been walking, and for roots through the dirt lifting up branches and grass. It’s been hot in California, and I’m really, really grateful for water. I’m grateful for shade. And sun. I’m grateful, when I lift up my eyes, for all the openness between me and what I see, and for the closeness. And in a very real way I’m grateful for you, too. This moment of reaching.