Gratitude

In the last two weeks I’ve felt more at ease with myself than I have in a long time—a byproduct of growing older and wiser, I assume. The baby fat that clings to my cheeks, skims my waist, and sits on my thighs has not yet disappeared, but I’m less preoccupied with the extra inches. They’ll shed soon, my mother tells me. Your body is plumping itself for carrying a baby.

There will be no child in this womb, ever, but it’s reassuring to be reminded of how formidable the female body is. Thank you for just knowing—a gentle thought of gratitude, to myself.

The shift, I think, came with small changes: making frequent trips into the city, where I always seem to feel alive; making plans to see my best friends (more sisters, really); spending an entire afternoon making new friends; eating more Chinese food; reading (I just finished The Argonauts and Speedboat). Finally getting a facial after two years. Re-arranging a few things around my house to make room for more books—mostly secondhand, because I love the smell of worn pages—and a dinky Christmas tree. Faux, of course, because the thought of cleanup or worse, bugs, gives me the heebie-jeebies. Eleven dollars can get you a miniature tree and set of colorful ornaments, also teeny.

Target is a magical place.

Also magical—consecutive days of sunlight (!), which undoubtedly played a role in my optimism. Winter can be as depressing as it is cold; a glimpse of blue sky is cause to be grateful. Even my little pair of pothos, leaves limp from weeks of grey, have perked and now stretch towards the light. Thirty-degree weather and frosted cars are more bearable under the sun.

A drawerful of Uniqlo x Alexander Wang heattech helps, too. (I now live in the ribbed tights and rotate the bodysuits.) So does a steady stream of hot yerba mate green tea. When my kettle isn’t within an arm’s length reach—in winter, I strategically set up my at-home work station so I can easily refill and heat up water for seamless replenishment—I go wherever non-dairy lattes are served. Usually, it’s Starbucks; basic, yes, but it’s en route to work. Sometimes it’s Pret for a black coffee, Blank Slate for matcha. I’m not picky with the drink so long as it’s extra hot and caffeinated, but I do prefer mine with good conversation and even better company.

Like on Saturday, when I met Míriam for lunch, which then turned into tea because we couldn’t stop talking. It still feels surreal, especially now that I’m sharing it here (I hope you don’t mind, M.!) because she and I have “known” each other for just about a decade now, back when she was blogging and I was writing under “La Couturier.” The world is growing more hateful and terrifying by the day, but moments like this—instant connection, despite being across the world—are necessary, special reminders of humanity and its magic.

To simple but significant changes.

To friendships that feel rooted, but are new.

To sun, heattech, and hot tea (sipping English Breakfast from Liberty as I write, a thoughtful and fitting gift from Míriam.)

To Thursdays, which are one sleep away from Friday—meaning there is a weekend ahead to be thankful for.

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xx