I’ve been dealing with a small amount of anxiety lately, or as I like to say, anxiety issues. Gerrit says that I have anxiety (not anxiety issues) and I’m just really good at dealing with it and going about daily life usually. But recently it has felt a little bit more prominent, and I am 100% sure that this has to do with the fact that I am now a mother. (There is always something to be afraid of if you let it creep up into you.)
Every year I feel like I am more thankful for Thanksgiving. And this year I am thankful for it because it helped me breathe again. I went a good four or five days not feeling anxious about anything (except Atlanta traffic), and I think I needed that reminder of what it feels like to be normal so that I can keep carrying it with me.
I’m reading a really random book right now called The Archaeology of Home. I’ll be honest and tell you that it is not the most riveting read, but I am in the mood for it right now and I keep turning the pages finding the history fascinating. It is all about home, about the people who have come before us in the places where we live (and in the case of this book, New York City). It felt like an appropriate thing to be reading during the Thanksgiving season, reminding me of family and generations and the large scope of history and life.
One of the sweetest moments of the whole Thanksgiving week was watching Gerrit’s grandmother play with Evelyn. Gerrit’s mom asked her, “Did you ever picture yourself as a great-grandmother?” And after some thought she said, “You know, I never really did.” But she is just delighted with her great-granddaughter.
There are so many people who have come before us and so many people who will come after us. And all with have stories, some bad, but I’d like to think that they are mostly good, and I am thankful for Thanksgiving reminding me of that this week.