November is a hard month.

It is the month in which most people perk up and pay attention.

It is the month where being grateful and thankful are suddenly in vogue.

It is the month where even the mundane becomes magical.

It is the month I stubbornly avoid.

It is the month I refuse to acknowledge; my calendar jumping from October to December.

It is the month I wish and will away.

It is the month in which my mother died.

In the years following her death I found very little to celebrate; very little to be thankful for.

This year feels guiltily different.

This November feels softer; finds my stubborn resolve wavering and melting; finds me noticing things to be thankful for despite my conscious attempts not to.

So on this, the first day of the forgotten month, I turned my calendar promptly over.

I stared down each blank square; vowed to live each of those days, vowed to find something simple and special to celebrate, promised to be thankful and mindful and present.

Vowed to let the sweet outweigh the bitter.

Vowed to pay attention, to notice, to live, to be in the moment. and above all else, to be genuinely and unabashedly thankful…..