This past March 20th — the first day of spring in the northern hemisphere, International Day of Happiness, Mr. Rogers birthday and Persian New Year — I celebrated my 42nd birthday. Most definitely a day to rejoice.
This getting older thing? I kind of like it. I’m more mellow, happier and feel more in control of my life. So in the spirit of things like The Happiness Project and 100 Days of Happiness, I’ve decided to do my own version of cultivating happiness, awareness and gratitude by listing one thing for which I am grateful for each year of my life.
Here goes.
For Noah.
This is what I learned about Noah while pregnant. He is the sort of man who has no issue doing the shopping or taking care of Lila. He sees my rounded, pregnant state and only wants to help me. He is patient, kind and at every step puts his own well being second to that of myself, this baby and Lila.
We’ve had fights in our 20-something years together. It hasn’t been perfect, but our lives together have been something quite wonderful nonetheless.
For my daughter’s lovely character
There are so many examples, but one that stands out is from my actual birthday this year. It’s a small detail, perhaps one that seems not terribly important, but sometimes those small details mean everything.
There I was eating an apple when she pops along and asks for a piece. I hand her the last quarter on my plate. “Thank you, Mama,” she says.
I love it when Lila calls me mama. When she was 4 years old, around the time we left the United States, Lila started shifting from mama to mom. You know, the precursor to the teenage maooommmm eyes roll. There is no mom in Spanish. In Spanish, there is only mama, which is what she still calls me.
Lila continues. “Thank you, but not just for the apple. Thank you for taking care of me and for everything.” Then she gives me one of her patented sweet kisses on the cheek and wishes me a happy birthday before heading out to play.
[pullquote align=”center” textalign=”left” width=”80%”]There I was eating an apple when she pops along and asks for a piece. I hand her the last quarter on my plate. “Thank you, Mama,” she says.[/pullquote]
I love the sound Lila makes with her feet as she moves from place to place in the house.
Patter patter. I hear it when she wakes weekend mornings and runs to our bedroom to see if we’re up yet. Patter patter. She’s excited to show us a new drawing or share her latest idea for something she wants to invent.
Latest invention: Washing machine that only takes 10 minutes. It washes, dries AND folds.
Mostly, we stop moving like this when we grow up. We become more methodical and, too often, less exuberant.
The birthday e-mail from my mom that said this:
You know the Gaussian Bell curve where most people fit in the middle and a few are at each end, the real good and the real bad respectively. Well, you fit in at the real good and exceptional end with very few others. This was at school, at Barnard College where many girls were top class but you still stood out with prizes and awards, and high final results, and with your professional life now.
You are also the best at the husband you chose. Noah is wonderful in all aspects for you and Lila, and the way you bring up Lila who could not ask for better parents. The little boy is in for a wonderful surprise and life with his parents and sister.
Thank you, Mom. I also can’t help but smile when she writes MOM or GRANNY in the subject line of every e-mail she sends.
My dad
I have this sneaking suspicion that were he born in another time and place, say today in NYC, my dad would have become an artist instead of an immuno-hematologist. He paints, writes and never fails to support me in my own writing.
He’s had some pretty serious health issues in the past few years. I am thankful for the healthcare that helps him, and that in spite of often not feeling well, he insists on visiting us in Salta every year for Lila’s birthday. Every time he comes, he decides he’s moving to Salta.
For a body that works.
You’ve heard the statistics. By 40 years old, a woman’s fertility drops by 50%. A year later, it has plummeted an alarming 25 percent more. By the time you hit 42, a woman has a greater chance of being struck by lightening, or abducted by terrorists than conceiving a child.
With this backdrop, Noah and I figured well, we’ll try for another kid. If it happens, great. If not, we do other things.
Turns out, my body worked in spite of statistics.
And a fast labor and delivery that ended in healthy mama and healthy baby.
The hardest part of labor lasted about 4 minutes. That’s it. Then, little Charlie Abraham was in my arms. As we settle into whatever our new-normal will be, I am immensely grateful to have this new person here with us.
A reminder to love the moment you’re in.
At first, Charlie couldn’t focus his eyes. He slept all day and most of the night. Now, he’s learning to smile and kiss. Newborn clothing barely fits him anymore. What happened yesterday, evaporates today for something new.
When he cries endlessly and I find my body exhausted from walking and rocking him, I remind myself that it will not last long. Just as now I am the center of the world to this little boy, that too will not last forever.
Change is frightening and inevitable but beautiful.
For living where I do and when I do.
I live in the country in the mountains in a place where the sunrise greets me with different clouds and colors every morning. I live in a time when I can sit looking out at those mountains while I work with people in Europe, the United States, Bali, Korea and anywhere else the internet extends.
The friends who make Salta feel like home.
We’ve traveled enough and spent enough time in places as strangers to be able to support ourselves without much help from others.
Still, it is wonderful to know there are people who have your back. There are those who offer you newborn clothing, or offer to take care of Lila while you’re off giving birth. These are the same people with whom you share weekend asados, holiday plans and wake up early to drive you to the airport
It means we’re part of a community.
For the sweet things.
For the mint chip ice cream I craved in pregnancy. It brought with it the resounding flavor of my childhood. The pure unsweetened cocoa powder we found at a dietetica. Add a little sugar, vanilla and milk for the best hot chocolate ever. For the doughnuts we learned to make ourselves, because you can’t find good ones in Salta.
Who can forget the Lindt chocolate my dad packs in his suitcase? Or the seven layer bars my best friend Jen and I share over coffee and hours of conversation. For a daughter who I could wake at 3am from a dead sleep, and she’d follow me to the kitchen without question to bake.
You know, the sweet things.
Siesta.
Sleep is a beautiful thing, and blessings that siesta is still part of the culture in NW Argentina.
This guy.
He’s a little prick. A 10-kilo jerk of a cat. You can see it in his eyes.
Every morning around 5am, he slams his hefty cat-cow body against the door leading to the balcony. Like a mini-earthquake, he shakes our bedroom with such force. In spite of his girth and lazy cat nature, he has the stamina to bang until we let him in. Then he brushes past us, coat wet with fresh green burrs and jumps on the bed.
Ah, but he is irresistibly soft so we overlook his pure essence of selfish cat I-don’t-care. He sits beside me sleeping for hours, purring and reminding me to take an afternoon nap with him.
This view.
To quote Lola Akinmade, an amazing photographer and inspirational woman, “The day I stop appreciating sunrises and sunsets, someone needs to check my pulse.”
I wake up every morning to a different sunrise. Every day, it takes my breath away.
For the things I’ve seen.
You know those Buzzfeed lists of Must See Places to Visit? Surreal places to visit before you die. Yep. Libraries you have to see? Count me in. Spectacular places to bathe? Don’t mind if I do. Music pilgrimages you need to make. Even roads to drive? Yes and yes.
I have been so lucky to live a life full of travel, adventure. I am so fortunate to have seen so much of this world.
Yet the world is enormous, and there is so much more for me to see and do.
There are so many places I call home.
Atlanta. Buffalo. New York. Salta. Buenos Aires. Toronto. I can show up in any of these and there’s always a place for me to stay and someone offering to pick us up from the airport.
That whatever happened in adolescence no longer impacts my relationship with my parents.
Yeah, we’ve had our problems. Who hasn’t? I’m over it. Now, I see two somewhat nutty people who are fantastic grandparents, who love, protect and care for my daughter and new little one with the same force as would I.
Living in a country where people are so laid back that it’s actually even rubbed off on me.
I tend toward uptightness. I do. I admit it. Living in NYC did not gel well with this tendency of mine. Argentina, with its last minute invitations, and we’ll do it when we get to it demeanor has changed me enough that I don’t worry nearly as much as I used to.
After much trial and error, I’ve learned surface commonalities like having children or speaking the same first language cannot predict friendship.
True friendship is borne not of external factors but of who you are, how you act and the choices you make.
For knowing when a relationship isn’t working and not taking it personally.
For learning to say goodbye
For boundaries.
Setting boundaries creates self selecting friendships. People who will push your boundaries and take advantage, tend to disappear quickly when you finally say no more. Those who understand are the ones on whom you can rely.
Another lesson that has taken years for me to learn.
That finally, I say what I want when I want it.
And knowing the difference between when an apology is needed and when it’s not.
Too often, I find people, especially women, apologize when it’s not necessary. A good rule of thumb: If you’re apologizing because you’re asking for something you want or need, don’t. If you have been harmful or deceitful, then perhaps an apology is in order.
Because I know, eventually, I’ll figure it out.
When we ran out of gas on the top of a mountain in France, when we got stuck in the Atacama desert, for all the times we made plans and they fell apart, we managed to work it out.
Whatever happens, I’ve learned that we will find a way.
That even though I sometimes feel very alone, I know I am not.
The ability to see what’s truly important.
At some point, though, life will be difficult and things fall apart. That’s when that which is most important comes into sharp focus.
We were in the process of buying a house in Argentina when suddenly most of our money disappeared into the shifty haze of the Argentine banking system. Simultaneously, our landlord kicked us out of the place we were renting. We had to pack everything, find a place to stay while trying to communicate with Argentine bureaucracy to find our money. Oh, also, our US bank told us the Argentine government was investigating us for money laundering.
We considered that we might have to leave Argentina and go…. where?
Stress.
But we had our family and our health. We had our passports. We had three tickets back to the US where, worse came to worst, we had a place to stay and people to support us.
For getting lost.
For the people who were there to help us find our way.
There was the woman with a gas can who drove us to the nearest gas station. The man who gave us a place to stay while we found our money and settled housing. The friends who invite us over for Christmas and New Year’s and family members who maintain an open door policy for us.
We’ve had a lot of help.
For the people who treat you like shit.
Someone I trusted completely stole money from us. A lot of money. The really creepy part? She had apparently been systematically going through our stuff for months until she found things worth stealing.
I’m glad I found out who she was sooner than later. So we lost money, we were still able to pay our bills. Now, it’s over, done, and she’s out of our lives. She can do no more harm.
I live in a country where lunch together as a family is a norm.
Lila and Charlie will only be little for a short time. When they have their own lives, I’ll look back fondly our ritual of cooking and sharing a meal together.
For deep belly laughs that slip out when you’re not expecting them.
For Ali who told me to write every day of my pregnancy. Just write.
That I actually listened to him.
For my best friend Jen.
Jen and I met our first day of classes at Barnard. People who meet us assume we’re sisters. I wish for everyone to have a friend like Jen.
For understanding that even though my birthday was months ago, I don’t have to rush and post this on the actual day of my birth. Gratitude is welcome at any time.
For mentors.
The people who have given advice, support, tips and information. They may not even remember what they said, but they have made in impact on me.
For the basics.
Perhaps this should come earlier in my list, but there’s no hierarchy in gratitude. I have food, water, a safe place to sleep and decent healthcare.
I work with kids in an indigenous Wichi village three hours north of Salta. There’s no running water there, and only one building — the church — has electricity. Too often, there isn’t enough food to feed everyone.
The morning after my first visit there, I got up early to get Lila ready for school. It was winter and dark, so I turned on the light. I showered in hot water. Before going downstairs, I asked Lila what she wanted for breakfast, toast and eggs or oatmeal.
How rich am I to live in such luxury that I can offer my child not one but two choices of food?
I have been blessed with far more than the basics.
For the love of reading and writing.
Writing has been a refuge for me since the first time I put pen to paper. It is the tool I use to communicate, to support myself, to meet and work with others. While pregnant, I could slip into another world and forget myself, my discomfort, my fear and just write. It has been a constant throughout my life.
For these all these things and so much more, I am incredibly lucky and thankful.
When I slip sometimes, as we all do, and forget that my life is so full of gorgeous opportunity, I sit myself down to write in a gratitude journal.
I highly recommend keeping a gratitude journal of your own. I use mine when I’m feeling grouchy, angry. It’s a practice, a way to change your thinking. Much like free writing, a gratitude journal begins with simply sitting and writing for ten minutes. You will be amazed at how much beauty there is in your life.
