I love kind people more than those with manners. I appreciate lovers whose touch gives more than they take, and children who indiscriminately shower the unconditional love they’ve received on others. I admire the truth tellers even when their words slice open ugly secrets. I celebrate the satisfaction of making something out of almost nothing, something beautiful that makes another person smile or lick their lips. I adore people who are willing to get lost, who don’t worry or get angry, but ramble until they stumble upon beauty or weirdness and then celebrate it with gusto. I relish watching people enjoy their food while enjoying the conversations they are having with their mouths full and their eyes bright. I am thankful for the people who see me and get me and let me love them. I am even more grateful for those who don’t get me but want to because they’re trying to syphon off a little of my bravery to see themselves more clearly. I am thankful for the beauty outside my door, for the crow who visits me often and caws until I come outside to mimic him to say hello. I’m grateful for the words in books and films that send me down spiral staircases to new or rarely used rooms in my own soul and then pluck and place my heart on a widow’s walk looking out at something huge flying towards me like a friendly dragon carrying my future on its back. I am grateful for all the magic, inside me and around me. There are holes here and there in my existence but the weave of life I’ve been given has colors that invite me to dance and sing every damn day. And I do.