Leftovers, Soft Pants, and an Extra Helping of Gratitude

It’s the day after Thanksgiving in the U.S., which means both my fridge and my heart are a little overstuffed. Also I’m still in that cozy, reflective phase, where I feel compelled to take stock of the things that make this wonderfully chaotic life worthwhile.

I’m thankful for stories. The ones that remind me I’m not alone, the ones that make me laugh-snort in public, and the ones I carry quietly, waiting for the right moment to be shared.

I’m thankful for the books that have held my hand through airport delays, connecting flights, and long hotel nights. I’m very thankful for magazines too. (The glossy stack on my coffee table insists that print is very much alive and urges me to slow down and linger awhile.)

I’m thankful for the places that have allowed me to briefly vanish, as if they were portals to other worlds. The alley in Istanbul that smelled like cinnamon and sounded like secrets; the campsite on a beach where the wide, beautiful ocean never stopped oceaning; the forest where the light nudged through the trees like nature trying out a new filter.

I’m thankful for the tiny magic that shows up uninvited but somehow always on time. The kindness of a stranger, a heart-shaped rock on the trail, any kind of soft cosmic ping that feels like the universe sliding into my DMs with, “Hey, everything’s going to be okay.”

I’m thankful for narwhals, because they’re so improbable. (I’ve never seen one, but wow, I’m happy they exist, if only to prove that nature has a sense of humor.) I’m thankful for my family, who are similarly improbable and just as entertaining. And I’m grateful for the communities who have made space for me this year: Dancers, artists, writers, hikers, high-desert friends.

I’m thankful for my son, whose gentle heart makes me want to be a better version of myself — or at least a person who is kind to others and doesn’t eat potato chips over the sink like some sort of kitchen raccoon.

Speaking of kitchens, I’m thankful for noodles, nachos, naan … all the foods that starts with “n,” really. Plus dumplings that release clouds of fragrant steam, jeweled and glistening pomegranates, curries that fill the room with their deep, sun-colored heat, a pot of Rancho Gordo beans simmering away.

And spices. All of them. Just this morning I was chatting with a new friend in India about aromatic spices, and I swear I could smell the toasted cumin through our Zoom call.

I’m thankful I don’t have to wear hard pants today.

I’m thankful for every place I’ve been. Every airport, every guesthouse, even the chaos-riddled detours — because every wrong turn has led to the right one eventually.

I’m even more thankful for the places I haven’t wandered into yet, the map of the future still smudged with possibility. There’s a whole world waiting, filled with future friends, absurd adventures, and ambushes of wonder.

That’s the whole point, right? Even when everything feels heavy, awe is the thing that keeps me hopeful. It’s what coaxes me out of the house, nudges me to look again, urges me to imagine that something astonishing might be just beyond the next bend.

Most importantly, I’m thankful you’re here, wandering this big, messy, magical planet right alongside me.

Here’s to gratitude and to all the places our feet (and hearts) haven’t discovered yet.

Happy holidays, travelers.