Finding gratitude
On Thanksgiving you are often asked to acknowledge what you are grateful for- whether it be at school, work, home or your local coffee shop. Throughout November we are constantly being prompted to be Thankful for some aspect of life and to outwardly express this sentiment. The question of gratitude encompasses a cornerstone of a beloved American holiday. Sometimes this expression of appreciation transpires around a dinner table, a Turkey hand- (you know what I’m talking about, the classic elementary age tradition where you write down what and who you are thankful for on each finger, add some feathers and call it a turkey).
November bestows upon us a plethora of opportunities to unearth and acknowledge the things we take for granted on a daily basis. For me this introspective process of being thankful originated at school. I teach history at an alternative high school, where I have developed a more poignant appreciation for my life, my pretty stellar childhood and general place in this world. Similar to other schools, we have a tree with blank leaves where students, faculty and staff have written down what they are thankful for and why. The responses varied from friends to family to marijuana. As I went to fill out my leaf, a little brown blank canvas, I paused for quite awhile and remembered last year’s Thanksgiving holiday, reflecting on the events of the past twelve months.
I spent the gluttonous holiday cooking up a vegetarian feast for my girlfriend (now ex). We were failing, barely staying afloat in a tumultuous long-distance relationship. If we were not ensconced in the ethereal happiness only love can provide, we were fighting — screaming about the dog (throwing dishes, usually me), threatening self-harm (usually her) and consuming entirely too much alcohol in this malicious cycle. We could not seem to find a happy medium or any modicum of normality.
Our highs were high and our lows made me feel like my world was falling apart, a downward spiral that would never cease spinning. Last year’s Thanksgiving was volatile. I was bitter about being long-distance (selfishly so) and she was not the most trust-worthy partner. Despite having spent hours preparing a gigantic feast and hauling myself, the food and the dog five hours to Pittsburgh, we spent yet another evening fighting. The most disheartening part stems from my inability to recall the specifics, solely the combative confluence of our yelling and contemptuous diatribes. We let the debilitating nature of our ‘partnership’ propel us further and further into a negative, toxic space until I ended our expired relationship in the middle of April.
Although I was the one who decided to dissolve our relationship, my heart shattered. I stopped eating for a few weeks in May, consuming the majority of my calories through craft beer. I spent sleepless nights obsessing, attempting to ascertain the precise moment where things went wrong. I thought if I could find this moment, I could repair the damage, fix what was broken. Slowly, I came to the conclusion that no such moment existed. We were crippled long before and mutually ignored every undeniable sign.
The healing process has been arduous to say the least. Despite all of the problems and the strife, I loved her with every of part me and I firmly believe she reciprocated this emotion. The past seven months have been more challenging than I could have ever anticipated. At first, we communicated following the initial dissolution of our life together. These exchanges led me to treat what was the end of our relationship as a six week break. Our inability to go cold turkey and discontinue all contact failed, exacerbating an already dire situation. In July we finally succeeded in cutting ties, thanks in large part to my immature and petty handling of discovering her new relationship (thanks Instagram).
Heartbreak is pretty terrible, but the acute aching, the piercing sensation of feeling incomplete without another person, is an entirely different type of pain altogether. The idea of being alone was far too traumatizing to even attempt. My ex-girlfriend had already moved on. She updated her Facebook profile picture, filling the frame with her new love. Instead of actually processing the breakup and standing on my own two feet, rediscovering the routines and rhythm that fill me, I dated. I jumped from person to person, had entirely too much fun in Mexico City, returned to Charlottesville and continued my romantic escapades. In June, I moved back to my friend’s beloved farmhouse situated on an 800 acre slice of paradise in the country. I knew this physical move would be the first step towards making any progress emotionally.
I started going to yoga on a consistent basis in August. The clarity practicing three to four days a week provides has been life-changing. Last month during savasana, I finally accepted that missing my former flame is a far cry from trying to rebuild our defective relationship. The latter is no longer a form of masochism I buy into and the former (the yearning for what was once good) is a far more accurate description of how I occasionally feel.
What does any of this have to do with Thanksgiving? Merriam-Webster defines Thanksgiving first and foremost as, “the act of giving thanks.” What am I grateful for this year?
Moving from the depths of initial heartbreak to the doldrums of heartache to feeling whole again (without needing anyone, aside from Clifford) has taken seven months. It has not been a pretty process to watch unfurl for my friends and family or myself for that matter. In fact, I would say my behavior has been ugly and unacceptable at times. Regardless of the downfalls and poor decisions (often the result of one too many double IPAs or Imperial stouts) I have not only reached a place of happiness, but more importantly acceptance. I have ceased jumping from one person to another, stopped trying to replicate the positive parts of my relationship. Now that the chaos has subsided, there is clarity. Through the miles I have spent running away from the messiness of lost love, through the bottoms of pints of beer and glasses of wine, through the pages of newly discovered poetry, I have reached a place of acceptance this Thanksgiving. Of course there are days when I miss her, long for the laughter of our fleeting, bliss-filled moments. However, this Thanksgiving evening, I am grateful for my newfound ability to revel in the silence, the stillness that only solitude provides.
