Thanksgiving.

Sometimes I think I get so lost in being thankful for what I don't lack that I forget to admit I'm lost in general. If anyone asks me what I'm doing, the only honest answer is "I have no idea."

More often than not I'm OK with that. Today I'm not. Only slightly ironic.

spontaneity.

I've been known to do things on a whim. Drive across the state in the middle of the night, buy $225 concert tickets at work, get drunk at 7 a.m., run across a parking lot stark naked in March, jump off a bridge in the dark ...

My latest bout of spontaneity involved a text message from a dear friend in the middle of the afternoon. She said she's be in Philadelphia for an Americorps thing that night. I had plans but altered the course. Philadelphia is a lot closer to Scranton than Pittsburgh, and I hadn't seen Emmy since the morning I left Indiana, Pennsylvania.

I did my thing, trucked it the two hours down the turnpike and got there at 10 p.m. We went out, drank Pabst and gin and tonics, did a shot of Old Crow of old time sake and saw a shitty band at a random bar on South Street. On the walk back to the hotel, we saw a guy get the shit beat out of him on the hood of a car. I stole tea and cheese from Wawa, and we went back to the hotel where I got teary looking at pictures on her camera of people I miss so much.

Don't think of me as so reckless. I've also been known to play it safe. More often than not, I don't, I just do. And more often than not it's not doing that leaves me with regret. Reflecting on the afterglow of this leaves me with one conclusion: I simply did it because I know she'd do the same for me. And to know that is true is more warmth and grace than I could ever ask for.

I drove back the next day and called the rest of my best friends and expressed my love for each of them. They expressed the same back. To love and to be loved. To quote the ever dramatic Bright Eyes, let's just hope that is enough.

autumn or fall, whichever you prefer.

Everyone's favorite season is here.

As soon as the leaves started to change this time, I got a horrible bout of sadness in my heart because I vividly remember so much about last fall. I said at the end of it that it was simutaneously the best and worst I could ever imagine. Rachael's situation happened, Josh broke my heart and several people in my life died. I attended a funeral on my birthday. But I also spent a great deal of time with the best friends I could ever ask for, saw some killer shows, had amazing nights that blended into days and even met the person I'd fall in love with not even three months later. Every day was something new. Every day was an adventure. And even though my heart was hurting, every day felt like there was still worth. After all, I still had it so made, and things could've been so very much worse.

That's when I realized that fall didn't have to be a metaphor for dying. Things do die in the fall, yes, but they die beautifully. I didn't have to hold on for dear life to the daylight in fear of winter; I had to prepare myself for what was going to come: cold, heartbreak and darkness but also so much potential for growth and warmth and new. It was going to happen whether or not I was ready.

So that's what I'm going to do the rest of the season. I've stopped wishing I were somewhere else and I've stopped wishing I could turn the clock back to autumn 2007 and live it again. I'm accepting the roadblocks keeping me here and appreciating the things that are unique only to Northeast PA, namely, the people. After all, if I were in Indiana, I couldn't witness my cousin Katie slyly uproot a McCain/Palin campaign sign and hide it in the woods.

It's these little pieces about everything that matter as long as you're celebrating rather than sweating. The fractions really do mean more than the sum. You just have to let them.

so long, september

In the last month, I've been a bad "blogger." Not telling you the simple things that I'm grateful for. It's not to say this beautiful month wasn't full of stuff worth mentioning -- because it definitely was. Here are some things my short-term and semi-long-term memory feels worth noting:
-the generosity of my boss during the manic La Festa Italiana weekend. He threw us all a nice extra chunk of change (er, Jacksons) in our tip jar at the end of those crazy shifts.
-finding "Spiderland" on vinyl for 10 bucks
-finding "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea" on vinyl for 8 bucks
-giving someone "Slanted & Enchanted" on vinyl for more than those combined but not caring because I think it was a great gift
-a very awesome letter -- complete with stickers on the envelope -- from Todd
-other awesome tangible mail from the likes of my Western Pennsylvania comrades
-keeping necessary phone conversations strictly business with someone who once possessed your heart and not even obsessing about it for a minute afterward because he just doesn't matter that way anymore
-running into exactly who you want to run into in Philadelphia. Getting emotional with a former c0-barista, band mate, temporary roommate and forever friend.
-the lax security and uncorporateness of the All Tomorrow's Parties New York festival and all the amazing new temporary friends we made. Bonjour!
-the ever tasteful and handsome Mike Dahlheimer letting us in his Days Inn room during the festival so we didn't have to freeze in Ryan's jeep
-drinking Summer Shandy on the last day of summer and seeing My Bloody Valentine play their first show on U.S. soul in 15 or so years and how amazing that entire weekend was
-always acknowledging and being thankful for simple generosity I see in Scranton. This mostly is at work where a countless amount of people have bought the downtown crazies their share of caffeinated beverages. Yes, it's just a coffee, but they don't have to and they do anyway.
-calculated and calm alone time during the day
-sleepovers at the place of a guy who calls you back
-my parents being cool and not asking questions and just assuming I'm fine, because I am
-practically feeling people thinking about you because you know they love you and you know you're on their mind
-these fall colors!
-even longer voice mails
-and finally today: having chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream for breakfast.

I just keep on keeping on. It's OK if you do the same.

long voice mails.

I think I live for the days I'm at work, check my phone, see a voice mail, listen to it and have to save it for later because it's so long. Usually these are the type from my friends across the state and usually they are the very best. They start out with a chuckle because my greeting tricks everyone. Every time, too.

Whomever calls usually gives me an update, celebrates what he or she knows about me, prompts me to call back and says the usual, but not empty goodbyes: miss you, love you, all that jazz. Please know that these mean everything to me. After a few months of missing people constantly, I've gotten used to it. That doesn't mean I've forgotten; it just means it's not as aching as it was. So when I hear these messages, my heart just swells and wants to burst, like it typically does about anything involving any of the fantastic hearts I know and love. These used to be just from Todd when he first moved from Indiana to Pittsburgh, but now they're much more frequent from several others, too, since everyone went in complete different geographic locations.

So thanks, pals, for taking the time and blabbering about nothing and everything all at once. I really am grateful for your thoughts, concerns and love. In other words, I'm grateful for you overall. We'll actually catch each other on the other end some day. Until then, I love you and I miss you. And I really, really mean it -- but you already knew that.

whilst whistling some bowie song in my head.

Here we are. Another time passing mechanism. I'm occupied waiting for Kim to not be caught in traffic and get here, while my brother is in his room connecting with the Beatles. Living at home has been strange. It makes me feel terribly immature after being on my own for a few years, but it is oddly comforting -- a complete solace when I permit it to be.

But who needs solace? And from what? Only when things aren't going my way does my perspective shift to negative shades of black. That's when I pretend to hover over my life and look at it like I were a cartographer, mapping appropriate exits and on ramps precisely on my highway of almost 23 years. That's a really lame analogy, but it's sincere.

In that imaginary mapping, I'm reminded of those who I know love me. Then i think of how much of a distant snot I've been. Unintentional, of course, because I really cannot recall the last time I had such an ill motive, but still a distant snot. I tell myself that other people have needs, too, and right now one of them for several is me in this place.

Wow. Somehow I've successfully turned a quest for grace into the teenage angst I managed skipped over years ago!

I guess sometimes I have to step outside myself to remember myself -- why things are relevent and why I'm at where I'm at. It almost has that "not realizing what you have until it's gone" effect -- the feeling that sits with you weeks after breaks ups with a polar opposite-turned-complement. And it works because I'm immediately grounded. And then that fuzzy feeling I call gratitude sets in, and I find myself back on track. In the end, it all seems to come down to joy, gratitude and empathy, each of which contribute significantly to the ultimate: LOVE (in all its various fortitudes).

small joys of my half-sunny, half-cloudy friday

-listening to a mix that kicked off with Alanis Morrissette's "Hand in My Pocket" and remembering how much more I relate to her now than when "Jagged Little Pill" never left my stereo in the '90s. And how refreshing and kick ass that feels.
-cleaning out my glove box only to find a note Emmy wrote me months ago that wished me good luck on my presentation and said she loved me or some kind of friend thing.
-talking to my brother about politics and feeling mature about the matter -- knowing I've cast some pretty blind ballots and how I know now that voting for the lesser of two evils certainly isn't the answer to any of the problems in this so-called free state we live in.
-thinking about when Todd, Emmy, Kim and I went to that protest in D.C. and remembering how many smiles were on our faces. I particularly remembered when we all bombarded that guy with hugs. This reminded me of how much times I, too, have been bombarded with hugs.
-eating a lunch a friend prepared.
-packing for a few days away with my family.
-going on a three-mile jaunt via bicycle and having kittens chase me through Indian Rocks development.
-the cherry popsicle I devoured upon arriving back at my house.

Try listing some small joys sometime. My day isn't even half over yet -- I still haven't even gone to work! Look at how much you have to be gracious for every day. It'll startle you.

Edit: Add to the list the bunch of delicious buttercream cupcakes brought in for me at work because tomorrow's my last day at The Times.

it pays to buy used.

I picked up a copy of Nada Surf's "Karmic" yesterday at Embassy Vinyl. Today I opened it up and there's Sharpie scrawling all over the inside. It's signed by the band. Matthew Caws wrote to the previous owner: "Indeed, pal! Indeed!" Daniel Lorca's writing was illegible, but it had a smiley. And Ira Elliot put a little drum with N.S. below his name.

Yes, they're just people. But I still think this is pretty cool.

Thanks, karma, for being on my side.
No pun intended.

tangible mail.

A year ago, I was naked at 2:30 a.m. and holding hands on a bridge with a guy I cared greatly for. After convincing each other that we would be fine, we jumped into the dark, dark water 15 feet or so below us. Now, I'm getting packages of stuff he's had of mine and failed to return. It's comical because half of it I don't even remember loaning him.

But it's not the only mail I've received as of late. And certainly not the best either.

The letters I've read in the last few days were exceptional. Letters, in general, are great. I think I know why, too -- it's because that person takes a chunk out of his or her time to sit down and actually writes it. Applying postage and sending it also requires effort -- enough where mail can seem like a chore.

I often write a lot of letters that I don't send. I never intend to. Sometimes I'm thinking of something I'd like to talk a particular person about, so I write to him or her as if we were talking. I think one day, I'll bundle them up and just leave them somewhere or actually send them to the respective "owners."

The point is, receiving mail reminds me of how much love is actually circulating in my life and how endlessly thankful I am for it every time I realize it.

the proximity effect.

Last October, I rediscovered Nada Surf. I owned "High/Low" in high school and decided it'd be the album I listened to while trekking across the state on my 22nd birthday because I had to go say a final goodbye to a friend. I enjoyed it so much I stopped at the record store and got other Nada Surf disks for the drive back. That is when I heard the following lines:

"Maybe this weight was a gift ... like I had to see what I could lift."

It resonated quite loudly during the 270 or so mile trip. It hit me so much that at one point I pulled over along the Interstate and just screamed to the cars in what looked like the melodramatic performance of the year to passersby. Months later, I remember the whipping of the November wind on my face as I just LET GO (another one of their album titles) of everything that was breaking my heart at the moment -- Mark dying, Rachael's situation, learning that if I were to keep my heart invested in Josh that I would always care more, my aunt's bad news, the failure of a fall semester and the looming "what comes next" worries.

The weight, right then along I-80 near Lock Haven, made perfect sense. I was simply learning how much I could endure. I started truly seeing setbacks as lessons and obstacles as motivators.

I reminded myself that love is ultimately all I ever want in life, and if I die loving, then I can say I almost don't care about all the inbetweens. The number of phone calls I was receiving that day made it evident I had more than enough of it to sustain me.

So what does this have to do with proximity or Nada Surf now? I listened to "Lucky," the band's latest album tonight. I left work and after a mediocre Bog experience considered just driving out to Western Pa. because my heart was aching. While completely spontaneous, it would've been irrational because my car definitely would've broken down along the no-service stretch. So I took the expressway out, drove Northeast and told myself to stop running away from the two people that probably love me more than anyone else could ever have the ability to: mom and dad. After all, at the end of the day, it is for them and their overwhelming, unconditional love that I am most thankful.

Plus, I'm convinced that all this "weight" that's been had the last year or so will make everything so much lighter tomorrow.

falling out of love.

I don't think things are as pretty anymore now that I'm not in love. You know what I'm talking about -- stuff that suddenly seems infinite and more full of wonder when your heart is full and warm of the romantic type of my favorite four-letter word? Views from a moonroof. Kind gentlemen gestures. The glow of a car stereo on skin. It just isn't the same when your heart's not invested. Since I became a gimp again (yeah, busted ankle!), a lot of men have held open doors. And while I appreciate the gesture, it seems so much more tender when the person you're sleeping with does it.

Maybe I grew a little hard in these last two months. I don't know. But I certainly know that absence definitely doesn't make the heart grow fonder, and Jeff Tweedy is brilliant for singing "distance has no way of making love understandable." It doesn't. It just makes it hurt more.

There are advantages and disadvantages to both sides: in love and not. And in the end, I'm just thankful to have loved enough to know the difference.

reminder.

"Well you got up this morning and still had both your legs, right? "

Thanks for getting me back on track, J.

Asking Jews if it's weird that I want to be one.

While working at the espresso bar today, another barista and I chatted up some Israeli customers. I ended up asking them a question I always want to ask Jewish folk: what do you think of me wanting to be a secular Jew strictly for the traditions? They said go for it. I'm not sure if it's because they were younger or more open-minded, but I was glad they didn't stare at me blankly like most do. In fact, they were probably the most accepting of the idea if that make any sense. Made me feel a little less weird.

This is definitely not what I was most grateful for today, but it's the unique piece of grace in the bunch.

narcissism.

Apparently I should wear red cardigans with brown and white collared dresses more often because the amount of compliments I received today is shocking. Every time I was in a different locale, one or two people (male and female) would approach me and tell me how much he or she loved my outfit. Target and thrift store, thank you.

So, yeah, the clothes don't mean anything. But people's sunshine made my swell day a even better. I swear that pleasant attitudes are both magnetic and contagious. Can we all try that some more, please?

an overwhelming one.

I'm just thankful he's still alive.

ginger cookies win.

I had a shitty day. Aside from learning at 3:30 p.m. that I was scheduled to work at 8:30 a.m. at the espresso bar, my "newly fixed" car stalled in Dunmore several times. I got into a phone argument with the last person I want to phone argue with and I got a mean papercut.

But it really wasn't shitty when I think about it, which brings me to what I'm grateful for today. Todd Faltin's willingness to share his superb recipe for vegan gingersnap cookies. I added a lot more ginger than was called for, and it was a good decision because anyone who had one looked pleased. And I was delighted to bake them. But that's not what mattered. I love Todd, and I love how he himself is so generous with his baked goods and with life in general. Making his cookies reminded me of that spirit and how I myself should strive to be as giving and compassionate as he is. Maybe we all can.

some selfish gratitude, but important.

Today I am thankful that I relinquished 15 unnecessary dollars and actually didn't care. It was freeing, you know, not to feel like money dictated my sentiments. The person who received it didn't really "earn" it, and for a while, I thought about taking it back, but then I realized soon after that it's just $15. And I'm in a situation presently where $15 doesn't mean as much as it used to. I just hope he puts it to good use. I think he took his girlfriend to the Glider Diner, and that's fair enough to me. At least it wasn't Burger King or some other impersonal place.

I hate the word blog.

But here I am regardless. In my quest for everlasting optimism, I started jotting down one thing I am grateful for about each day in a small memo book. Sometimes it's a stretch to think about, but most of the time I'm deeply humbled and taken back by my indecision.

If you know me, you know I have a few overwhelming (and sometimes very irrational) fears. The first is losing my memory. The second is losing some sentimental possessions in a fire -- my journals, my box of Polaroids and lastly, my baby blanket. I fear this because my dozen or so journals are my history, and I'm obsessed with nostalgia and reminiscing. Also, secrets. Wow, secrets. Tangible proof of the people I love are in the box of Polaroids. And my baby blanket warms my heart more than kittens. (You think being a blanket it'd keep me physically warm, too, but nope, too worn out for that).

Anyway, the Internet is fireproof.

But enough of that. I'll try to make this just as daily as the memo book, but it might take some time, like most things, until it becomes absolute habit. I'll start with one thing I was grateful about today.
I'm grateful for my father, who this evening as talked his ear off about my barista joys, art ideas, love of print media and relentless cell phone phone tag with friends, never once acted uninterested in what I had to say.