A Dose of Humility, and Then a Soft Place to Fall

Tonight I fell asleep on my cousin Jaron's shoulder, after a long and confusing several days. I rarely see my family, but they mean the world to me, especially my younger cousins.

Yesterday I said that tonight I would write about why I am thankful for the things that make me humble, but also, especially right now, I am thankful for those people and places that provide a soft place for me to fall.

Generally I have a healthy ego, I think. Which is why I take great masochistic pleasure in those experiences that challenge me, make me nervous, geek me out, deflate me and make me think. Over the past year, those things have been numerous. From inconspicuous miscommunications to massive setbacks, I suppose I can say that I am thankful, even for the tough lessons.

I am thankful for those of you whom I cannot understand and never will (because you keep me wondering about humanity). I am thankful for those of you who aren't afraid to tell me that I have no idea what the heck I am talking about, especially if I don't (because most of the time, I'd rather have someone open my eyes than agree with me). I am also very thankful for the perspective and wisdom of the women I work for. Because, despite the letters I may carry after my name (and the subsequent credibility that higher education might bring) they never forget to remind me that lived experience is way more important than big words and academics (I couldn't agree more). I am thankful for the arguments I've had (and lost), and for the random experiences that transpire daily that make me feel insecure, aimless or even uneasy. These are the things that keep my feet on the ground.

...But even more than that, I am thankful for those of you who are stable and calm and present and reasonable and reassuring, not just when I'm shining, but when I am flailing too.

You see, there are some of you who renew my faith in humanity, as syrupy as that may sound.

My 17 year old cousin, Jaron, for instance. When I overhear him talking to his girlfriend on the telephone, he asks her, "Is this the prettiest girl in the world?" (bashfully, almost). His voice is quiet, sincere and certain. He is not yet above the cheesy cliches of puppy love, and every part of me hopes he will never be hardened by heartbreak. But for now, I am thankful that he can enjoy it. Their six month anniversary is Saturday, and although he can't get her much, he's taken apart six bags of Jolly Ranchers so that he can make her a full bag of only blue ones, because those, he tells me, are her favorites. I am thankful for those little things people still do to amaze me.

And then, after those long days that yield very little to be positive about, there are many of you who provide me with a soft place to fall.

Some of you simply have loved me long enough to look at me just right. Some of you know exactly what to say. Some of you sit next to me, comfort me, by saying nothing at all. Some of you look at me in a way that zaps the loneliness. Some of you pull me up and put me back together. Some of you just bring back the laughter.

Life offers each of us plenty to be humble about. Because of this, I am thankful for those of you who remind me of the innocence that still exists quietly in the world, and I am thankful also for those of you who cushion my crash landings.