This week here in the U.S., we celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday, and I turn my attention more fully to gratitude. I’d like to reshare a piece of writing I wrote nearly two years ago. Even though life has, in many aspects, moved on from what it was then, I know that tapping into a profound sense of gratitude, often for the simplest things – the late autumn sun, the ability to put pen to paper, the breath rising in my body – can always fill me with more than enough.
I've found many reasons to write in my life. I've written while traveling alone, staying at hostels across Italy and marveling at the vibrant kindness of strangers. I've lived in Morocco and Argentina, and I've written through culture shock and through not speaking the language, desperate I'd never understand.