Gratitude on Thanksgiving Day.

I am not sure if sentimentality is a natural side effect of middle age, but I have found myself being easily choked up by various things. People send schmaltzy emails about God, country, babies, milestones, friendship, and all manner of other topics that I would generally dismiss, and I find myself reading them closely. Morevoer, I saw a touching commercial the other day and had to feign an allergy attack to disguise my embarassing reaction.

I read about the young Medal of Honor winner, SSgt. Salvatore Giunta, and I never made it to the end of the story. I am genuinely awed that we have young people so committed to their causes and their comrades that they will risk their own life to adhere to abstract principles and values. In fact, when I incline toward pessimism about the future of our country, I am psychologically galvanized by the stories of our soldiers, missionaries, and commmunity volunteers.

With that in mind, I turn my thoughts to this Thursday, November 25th, 2010.

I am grateful. Oh sure, I am also still concerned, worried, and often distressed, but I cannot deny my sense of gratitude any more than I can deny my loss of composure when I hear "Butterfly Kisses" on the emo radio station. Heaven help me when the "Christmas Shoes" ditty starts playing in a week or two.

The sense of gratitude is fueled by my realization that, despite all the baggage that is part of life, the most important elements are things I can count on: I love my wife and my kids, and my job still provides me with a chance to make a difference. I am healthy, appreciated by the people that matter, and I still find reasons to summon up an old-fashiioned belly laugh on a regular basis.

Lest i undermine a persona that took a lifetime to cultivate and grow to maturuty, let me declare that I still maintain the capacity to morph into a grumpy old man at a moment's notice. My default psycholigical state is still comprehensive dissatisfaction. The difference is that I think I hhave reached a point where the funks don't last so long, though they still tend to run as deep. (Maybe the next stage of evolution will diminish that tendency?)

So as Thanksgiving approaches, I am surprised to find myself focusing on the good things, not at the absolute exclusion of the sources of angst, but with a conscious conviction that these sources of gratitude, gratefulness - dare I say it, (Happiness?) are paramount. I think the holiday's preeminent invocation is to find the elements which are so critical, and to place the negative forces in solitary confinement for a few days.

I know it's trite, cliche`, and maudlin, but just suppose that you can armwrestle the forces that compromise your sense of hopefulness, and take a concerted look at the roses that are just waiting for your nose to smell.

Happy Thanksgiving, I say, and I don't know where this whole thing came from. I think I need to apologize.