I am grateful for my job, which pays far better than the norm for someone of my skill level.
I am grateful for the fact that I can aspire to an even better job and career, with even better pay still, as well as greater fulfillment, without having to set aside years of suffering through university or an apprenticeship. There is plenty to learn, but the traditional education system is not the way for me to do it.
I am grateful to be an autodidact, capable of teaching myself things, enjoying the learning, seeking to satisfy my curiosity, if only for a moment….
I am grateful for my kids for inspiring hope in me, the natural world for showing me that my hope has a purpose, and Tim Ferriss for giving my hope a structure.
A new experiment today: Three things from yesterday that I am grateful for.
I am grateful for…
- not having to live hungry
- the fact that summer (and last night, Daylight Savings Time) is over
- having the ability to go and rescue one of the kids from a situation that wasn’t working, and having kids that want me to rescue them
Sleep deprivation is a sweet and glorious thing. One has to wonder what it is doing to your body, but the extra time it adds to your day is golden.
I especially love the jittery, fuzzy feel of the world through a haze of sleep deprivation. Adds a real edge to life.
I love talking to machines. They are just so cheerful. I especially appreciate when they call me by name, because it gives me a chance to giggle at the mispronunciation. Human beings struggle with my name, but machines, they have no hope. I often think it would be nice if companies would allow you to provide a phonetic name that any of their operators would see when speaking to you.
This might not be much use to the Johns and Marys of the world, but for those of us who have a name which is unusual (I count myself here, though am by no means alone), has spelling which is ambiguous about correct pronunciation (is Andrea pronounced Ahndreea or Anndreea or Anndraya or Ahndraya? I’ve known at least one of each!), or both.
Now don’t think I am complaining about my name being butchered, I have gotten over that long ago. Besides, if I hear my name called, I am pretty sure that it’s me being called.
Still, if I ran a call center, I would be working on this one. John and Mary might not be impressed, but it would be just a nice point of difference for the rest of us.
I think back to the night of September 10th, 2001, watching the World Trade Center towers be struck and fall, and think that it’s terrifying being a human, mostly because of the other humans.
We had just hopped into bed and put on the Ten late news with Sandra Sully. Part way through the news cast Sandra told us the breaking news that a plane had hit one of the World Trade Center towers and that she would have more details shortly. She went on with a few more stories, and then came back to the towers, and told us that it had been confirmed that the plane striking the tower had not been an accident. Very shortly after that, while watching LIVE, the second tower was struck. I sat in awe, lying in bed next to my wife of only 166 days, wondering if I was good enough to be a husband and stepfather, when I knew I wasn’t good enough to fight fires or arrest criminals or fight wars.
Now it is 4159 days later, and I still wonder if I am good enough for this world. Good enough to be a human, as terrifying as it is.
I really wonder what it’s like to live the world as someone other than me.
I mean, I have all sorts of ways that I see things in the world, that I don’t think line up all that well with how other people see things. For one thing, I am borderline painful with optimism. (I’m not saying I don’t get negative, because I do. But I’m almost always getting negative on myself, for something I’ve done, rather than other people. And I try not to let that show too much.) I am also excrutiatingly logical, but because I notice things that you almost certainly don’t (different perceptions, we’ve all got ’em!)my logic probably doesn’t make much sense to you. At least, not without explanation. But why would I explain myself when it is so paaaaainfully obvious?
I suppose, this fascination with living in the world as other people is what attracts me to writing fiction. Then I can experience the world as other people, and still be me.
What, you didn’t think I actually wanted to be someone else, did you?