Belonging

Have you ever felt like you don't belong? And for no reason, either. Just, for some reason, you're out of your comfort zone. You hang out with family, friends, coworkers, strangers, whoever... and you feel so uncomfortable and awkward that you don't know where to look or who to talk to or what to do.

You grab a drink or a cigarette so you can have something to focus on besides your own awkwardness. When I feel anxious, I feel like it's so obvious to everyone around me. I feel like anyone who looks at me is thinking, "Hooolyyy shit, what's wrong with that chick?"

I won't make eye contact because that right there will give it all away. The second someone can see my eyes, my game is up and they'll know for sure that I'm a fraud. So instead, I look everywhere else. I'll pretend to be highly focused on opening my beer, or looking in my purse, or admiring the fucking beautiful hardwood floor. Anything but eye contact. Eye contact will make me cry.

I felt that way tonight. Instead of forcing myself to get over it, or drinking myself dumb, I called a cab. Within ten minutes the cab was there, and as soon as I got in that cab and gave him my home address, the hugest sigh of relief escaped me. I just wanted to go home.

When I got home, I walked inside to two insanely excited dogs. I nudged them aside, set down my purse, and sat down on the ground and cried. I had no reason to feel anxious or uncomfortable tonight. But anxiety doesn't care if it makes sense or not.

After I cried, I hugged my dogs, chugged two glasses of water... and now here I am... at home.

The nightmare: withdrawals from antidepressants

I'm no longer taking Celexa, and I thought that meant I was home free. I hadn't swallowed the little white pill in a full week and I felt perfectly fine... until I didn't.

Three days ago it got really bad.

Chris and I spent Saturday afternoon with his dad and grandma, and then the evening with my dad and brother. The entire time, my mood got worse, and worse, and worse. By the end of the day, I was escaping to the washroom every five minutes so I could cry, because the tears were uncontrollable. Everyone else was having a good time, and I should have been too, but I couldn't. I sat there quietly, for hours, and felt numb.

When Chris and I got home, I wouldn't sit near him, or look at him, or let him touch me, and when he asked what was going on, I'd brush away my tears and say, "I don't know!!" 

I said: "It feels like I'm going through waves of being happy, and then being the saddest, most depressed, and most irritable I've ever been, all within a matter of hours... it comes and goes and comes and goes."

In the good moments I feel like myself. But slowly, I feel a disconnect happening between my consciousness and body, if that makes sense.

I Googled "antidepressant withdrawal waves," not knowing it was actually a thing until I stumbled across this amazing post that puts into words exactly what it feels like: Waves and Windows in SSRI Withdrawal. 

 

In the good moments, I feel like myself. Happy, connected to what's going on around me, able to be part of conversations, aware, human.... but the bad moments are terrible, hands down the worst emotional pain I have ever felt. I think about hurting myself. I think, "Chris, my family, my dogs... they'd all be so much better off without me." In those moments, I feel I'd be doing them a FAVOUR by disappearing. When I told Chris this, he said, "Don't you understand how much it would devastate everyone?" And in those moments, no, I don't understand. When I get sucked into those places, I can't see the future, I don't take anyone's feelings into consideration... all I think is that "This is my life, and it will never end, and I can't live like this." At one point, Chris mentioned us having a family one day. I was like... a family? I can't even look passed the next 30 seconds and see a future, the idea of a family is absolutely out of the question.

There's this huge, thousand-mile distance between my thoughts and my body. I feel like my consciousness is trapped inside a room that's in the middle of the desert, while my physical body is far, far away, hanging out with other people. I am trapped inside my own body and I can't communicate the thoughts I am having.

This is Hell. 

If I start taking Celexa again, I know I will never again attempt to come off of it; it's that hard. Happy moments are fine... I love being drug free. But the lonely and sad moments that feel like they'll never end... in those moments, I find myself reaching for my little white antidepressant pills. It's such an easy solution. I can be happy again, simply by taking one little pill every day.

Chris gently says, "How about you give it two more days?" and then two days later I feel great. But two days after that, and I'm back in this nightmare. 

I wish my doctor would have warned me. This is why it's so important we take our health into our own hands... but aren't doctors the ones who are supposed to know this stuff, warn us, and guide us? Aren't they the experts? On the one hand, I'm really pissed off that I was totally blindsided and didn't expect any of this, but on the other hand... it is my life and my body, and I should have researched what I was putting into it.

Let it go

It's essential to let go of things that no longer serve you.

If a friendship that was once fun is now work, say goodbye.
If a cause you once cared about no longer makes you feel passionate, find a new one.
If a job makes you feel depressed rather than happy, quit.

At the end of the day, it really is that simple. Forget the responsibility you feel to anyone else because the only responsibility you have is to yourself.

I certainly have a tendency to hold onto things.

Like, because a friendship is old and was once valuable to me, it means I need to keep it in my life. It's called the sunk-cost fallacy:

Reasoning that further investment is warranted on the fact that the resources already invested will be lost otherwise, not taking into consideration the overall losses involved in further investment.

Friendships are—ahem, should be—give and take. Sometimes one person gives more, and sometimes that same person takes more. But if the balance is always skewed, it's not really a friendship worth having, is it? I've recently said sayonara to a few friendships, and it feels good. I now have more energy to put into friendships that are equally beneficial.

On the topic of work: when Sunday comes and you're dreading the work week ahead of you in a way that is all-consuming, it's probably time to find a new job. People have a way of making themselves believe they're "happy enough". You tell yourself, "My job isn't all that bad. The pay is okay, the hours are good, vacation is decent." We find a way to live with situations that don't make us happy by convincing ourselves that it's not that bad. We feel loyalty to companies that feel no loyalty to us. We feel we've worked somewhere for so long that it would be silly to give up the "perks" we have to start somewhere new. But that's bullshit.

These days, I try to only do things that I want to do, and things that will make me happy. And you know what's happened?

I'm now happy... for the most part.

Remembering a friend...

Today was the 11th anniversary of my friend Jimmy's death. He was walking across a marked crosswalk when a drunk driver hit and killed him.

So much has happened in my life since then. I was 17 then, and I'm 28 now. Looking back to eleven years ago, I am an entirely different person. As much as I have grown over the years, if I allow myself to go back to that time, I'm raw and still very much there.

Life has gone on for me while Jimmy is frozen in time. It's a reality, and it's not something worth getting sad about because as much as I wish I could make it different... I can't. So I live my life, and from time to time, I remember Jimmy and smile.

I love cows. They are my favourite animal. Jimmy knew this. One day he called my house phone (cell phones weren't a thing like they are today), and when my dad passed me the phone, Jimmy excitedly said, "Beth! I'm at this garage sale, and I found a cow couch! Do you want it!?"

I said of course... and that evening, Jimmy and his step-dad delivered it to my house.
Three weeks later, Jimmy died.

As physically uncomfortable as that couch was and as cheaply made as it was, I held onto it for years after Jimmy's death, because it was a tangible item from him. It was a physical object that I could remember him by.

Eight years after Jimmy was gone, I told my dad we could finally get rid of the cow couch. We smashed it to pieces, and it broke my heart with every smash, but it was also so therapeutic. I needed to move on. Not forget, but let go. It was simply the destruction of a cow couch, but it was also an oddly beautiful send-off to a really great friend.

NFJS

Self Censoring

I write posts and then delete them. It's this thing that's been plaguing me lately. Waking up with shame and embarrassment about baring my soul drives me to delete delete delete. A huge part of me wishes I had never shared this blog link with anyone I know in real life. It's difficult to NOT filter yourself when you know that people who know you may read your words. I've shared this blog with a lot of people, and chances are most of those people have forgotten about it or don't care to read it, but that lingering fear is there. That I'll be judged, laughed at, or called an idiot. I feel like a stupid, dramatic basket case.

I could filter myself. I could pretend to be confident and happy all the time. But I write to work through my internal crap, and yeah, I could make this all private... and maybe I should... but I like the idea that maybe one single soul reads my words and is able to relate.

Therapy made me social again

When I saw my therapist last, we talked about situations that are especially difficult for me to deal with.

The focus of our last session revolved around how I think my friends think I'm stupid, boring, and annoying. I don't know where it comes from. No one's ever said any of these things, yet when I'm with friends, I often feel disconnected, and like they'd rather be talking to anyone but me. My least favourite question to be asked is, "What's new!?"... because quite honestly, the answer is usually "Nothing." But I can't say that, so I have to dig and search and plan beforehand what I'm going to say. Maybe I'll tell you something cute my dogs did, or tell you something exciting about Chris because his life truly is more exciting than mine, but most likely, I'll say, "Not much, you?" Talking about myself makes me really uncomfortable... I prefer to listen.

I had only seen my friends twice in eight months. I was too depressed and anxious to go out when they'd invite me, so Chris would go on his own. And the more I declined invites, the more I felt they didn't like me, so I would decline even more. I didn't trust my friends enough to say, "Hey, guys, I'm going through a really rough time right now." Instead, I ignored their invites or would say I'd go, and then wouldn't. By my actions, they likely felt I thought I was better than them or didn't want to see them, or whatever. Depression and anxiety are so fucking weird.
Last weekend, Chris and I went to the lake with some of our friends. I REALLY did not want to go at first. I had only seen them once since the wedding which was in April, and the idea of spending an entire day, sleeping in a tent, and then spending more time with them the next day... I was terrified. But Chris pleaded. He does so much for me, so I relented and agreed to go, even though I was SURE they all hated me (stupid brain).
So we went, and as soon as we got there I WAS SO HAPPY. I had so much fun. It's astounding to me that the human brain can give you so much negative self-talk and you'll believe every last bit of it.
A huge part of why I went camping was because of my appointment with my therapist. Working with her has made me realize that I need to put myself in situations that make me uncomfortable. Our brains blow things way out of proportion, and half the shit we tell ourselves isn't true anyway.
What I learned is that sometimes you need to tell your worrying brain to SHUT UP. And trust your husband when he tells you that you're going to have an awesome time camping with your friends.
x

A kid's love...

Kids have this awesome way of making you feel loved. You just need to be nice, attentive, and play with them, and they will make you feel like the coolest person in the world. They want to be around you and show you things that matter to them, and their eyes light up when you are excited about something that excites them.

I've been seeing my nephew a lot. He's three, so everything is super interesting to him, he loves to ask, "Why?"... he is curious and sponge-like, absorbing everything.

My favourite thing is that he always wants to hold my hand. He wants to cuddle. He wants to hug me and kiss me and tell me he loves me. When I'm in the washroom or outside having a smoke and I hear his little voice say, "Where are you, Auntie Beth!?" as if he can't stand to be away from me for a minute more, my heart melts a little bit.

When he asks me to play, I always say yes. He won't be little forever. He won't want to play forever. So if he wants to play cars, draw with chalk, or go for a walk... dammit, I'm game.

A kid's love is the coolest thing.

Today

Flamingos eat so much shrimp that it tinges their feathers pink
Chance is nestled right next to me
I listened to music and it made me feel something
So many hugs from so many people
Cried
Learned things via documentaries
Played Mario Kart and Mario Party

GOODNIGHT.

Be PRESENT

I've been working really hard at being more social. Getting outside and taking my dogs for walks. Living in the moment.

The other day I was at the dog park with Chris's mom. She brought her little Yorkie (Sophie), my brother- and sister-in-law's Rotti (Bear), and I brought my and Chris's dogs, Chance and Charlie. 

I took my phone with me because I wanted to take pictures of the dogs in all their glory. After ten minutes, I realized I hadn't looked up from my phone... I was replying to texts as I was walking. My mind wasn't in the moment. I said out loud, "I'm not reading any more texts." And I didn't. I took pictures of the dogs and let the buzz of texts go unanswered. 

 I want to be present in my life.

I am who I am

I have a tendency to say odd and inappropriate things. I can't help but talk about taking a shit, that many babies are ugly, or that I sometimes bathe with my dog. This usually happens if I'm a) nervous or b) really comfortable with you. Sometimes people aren't quite sure how to respond. Often, when I'm met with a weird reaction, I immediately berate myself: "Goddamnit, Beth, you're so stupid!" or I think, "Why can't you just shut up and be normal?" 

Many simply shrug and say, "That's just Beth." Others say that's part of my allure and what they like about me. But sometimes, I think it's part of what makes me annoying to people, attention-seeking, and sort of weird. It bothers me that I am this way. 

The other day someone commented on it, which made me sad. I came home and cried to Chris, and told him I felt stupid and annoying, and why can't I just be quiet sometimes? He pulled me close and told me other people wish they could be like that... say whatever pops into their brain. I don't think that's true. But Chris loves all of me, and when I tell him I wish I could be different, he tells me I'm perfect exactly how I am and to never change.

I love that man.

ADOPTION

My dad was adopted the day he was born. The story I've been told is my grandma (my dad's adopted mom) went to the hospital one day and unfortunately had a miscarriage. Then, fortunately, later that same day, my dad's biological mom gave birth to my dad but, for whatever reason, didn't want to keep him. So, the timing worked, and my dad went home that day with his new mom, who only hours earlier lost her other baby to a miscarriage. It's heartbreaking and beautiful, all at the same time.

Adoption was a lot simpler in the '50s.

My dad's family are his (adopted) mother, father, and two sisters. When people find out my dad is adopted, I'm often met with, "So, does your dad know his real parents?"

I understand what people mean, but my dad's real parents raised him, taught him things, tucked him in at night, and loved him. My dad's biological parents are the ones who gave him up for adoption (and there is nothing wrong with that). Hell, if my dad hadn't been adopted, he wouldn't have married my mom, and I wouldn't exist. I am thankful my dad is adopted, and I believe he is too.

This is why it is so essential for me to adopt. I want to give a child a chance at a life they wouldn't have been given otherwise. Even if I have no problem conceiving, I feel it is vital to provide a loving home for a child that needs one. This child would not be my adopted child. This child would be my child.

And if, at some point, he/she was curious about his/her biological beginnings, I would like to think I would be supportive of it.

My dad began his journey a few years ago to learn more about his birth. He wasn't desperate in his search, nor did he want to develop strong familial bonds, but he was curious. He learned who his birth parents were and that he had something like seventeen half-siblings. He got in contact with a few. I've also met some of them.

My dad jokes about the handful of siblings he has, but he told his sisters recently, "I have seventeen new siblings, but really... I only have two."

Are you a planner? I didn't used to be.

Since last week, my days are filled with activity, stuff to do and things to accomplish, taking my dogs for walks, eating regular meals, spending time with people (I love being a hermit but apparently it's bad for depression), and thinking about who I am and what I want out of this life (for the first time ever, I can sit with myself and my thoughts and feel okay with it). This means I don't really have time to stress or worry because everything is already taken care of. My mind isn't always racing and I'm not filled with anxiety. Planning my day is new to me. I've never been a planner.

My mom can drive me nuts because she needs to plan. I made a comment about it last week to her. We were walking the dogs and she was rattling off our to-do list for the next week. I stopped her mid-sentence and said, "Man, you like to plan." She told me that she hates feeling out of control... and planning allows her to have control, or at least make her feel like she has control. Anyway, I feel like my days now are filled with commitments, which is strange for me because I'm so used to never planning anything, but rather, being impulsive and making last-minute decisions.

But as much as the plans annoy me... I do find comfort in them. Knowing that I have to do X tomorrow gives me a reason to go to bed at a reasonable time, wake up at a regular time, and truthfully, just gives me a sense of purpose. With where I'm at in my life right now, planning is exactly what I need.

When I had my breakdown last week, my mom came over and she said the following, which I will always remember:

Mom: Next time you feel this way, you need to come to me for help. If you don't tell anyone how you're feeling, all you do is think, worry, and stress about your life, and that will make it worse. You need to be open about it so that we can come up with a plan. A plan will help you fix this and give you steps to take to make it better.

I'm loved, I'm cared about, and I will be okay

I met with my doctor today. I've been having a rough go of things lately, and for the first time in a long time, I asked for help. My doctor could see how overwhelmed I was and how out of control I felt, and she left me with a few points that I think are relevant to us all:

• Don't be afraid to say no.
• If you don't ask for something, you won't receive it.
• You need to be at peace with yourself. Tell people when something they're doing isn't making you happy.
• You are worthy. Your opinions matter just as much as anyone else's.

Avoiding unpleasant thoughts, situations, and people is what I have always done. But I've recently realized that I need to change my M.O. 

If you want to make your mind, body, and soul sick, then, by all means, avoid the uncomfortable and bottle everything inside. But if you want to flourish, grow, and be healthy and happy… then you need to be kind to yourself, face the things you wish you could forget, forgive yourself for mistakes made, and get to know (and love) yourself. 

I want to be emotionally available. 

I want to be okay with feeling it all… the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

I want people to know they can come to me, and I will be honest with them about all things. 

I want people to know they can rely on me to be there for them when needed. 

I want to not be ashamed of my past, my feelings, my pain, my emotions. 

I want to feel that it's okay to be human and that it's okay to admit that I need help.  

I want to be okay with making mistakes and learn to be grateful for them because mistakes are good.

I want to believe that it's okay to trust people and that people say what they mean and mean what they say. 

I want to stop second-guessing compliments, words of encouragement, and kindness. 

I want to stop projecting my insecurities onto others—just because I see myself a certain way doesn't mean you see me that way.

I learned today that I shouldn't be afraid to let people in. Today I have been 100% pleasantly surprised, and 0% laughed at, mocked, or ridiculed.

Trust...

There is a reason I don’t give it out freely or easily. While I believe people are generally good, I also believe most people are in it for themselves and will do what they can to get ahead, even if it means throwing you under the bus. This isn’t me complaining or whining about the unfairness of life… this is me being honest about how life is. Sometimes I make a mistake in who I trust, and once I realize I’ve fucked up, you won’t get another chance. And don’t get me wrong, I can be a shitty friend too. This isn’t me saying I’m perfect and other people aren’t. This is me saying humans are flawed, and we are so very rarely altruistic in our actions. You can’t be an amazing presence in everyone’s life, you just can’t be. You save your amazingness for a select few.

To find someone who is there for you no matter what is better than finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow… it’s better than sex because it lasts forever, and it’s better than the tightest and deepest hug in the world. It makes you feel okay with yourself because someone sees you for you, all of you, and still accepts you. They hold your secrets close to their heart, and they would never sell you out. It is the most comforting feeling in the world, and part of why trust is so amazing is because it is so damn rare.

I pride myself on being able to very quickly know if I want someone in my life. Within seconds of being around you, I can sense your energy and whether or not you’re someone that attracts me. What I do need to learn are boundaries. I tell too much, too soon, and just because I gravitate towards someone and feel a connection, it doesn’t mean I need to bare my soul. Sometimes it’s okay to just like someone as a pal, and not rely on them for anything more than a light-hearted conversation or a lunch date. It doesn’t always need to be a deep, soul-connecting friendship. And that’s hard for me to accept, because to me if it’s not a deep and profound connection, it’s fluff and superficial. And why waste your time and energy on someone that doesn’t feed your soul? Well, because Beth, sometimes life can’t be everything you want it to be, and you have to be okay with that. You have to be okay with knowing you can’t trust someone, but still, be able to like them.

I will hold you close to my heart if you can teach me something about myself in a gentle way. My favourite people are those who teach me things without even realizing they are doing it. They don’t look down on me or tell me that this is how I should behave or I should stop doing this or that… they guide me through mutual friendship and understanding. True friendship is give and take, and the friendships I value most are the ones that make me yearn for personal growth.

I’ve learned that it’s okay to be fucked over by people because the people who won’t do that bullshit to you are ten times better than the people who will. Focus your energy on the good ones.

Are we all faking it?

The other day Chris and I met with our wedding DJ: when he asked what I do for a living and I told him I’m a technical writer, his response was, “Wow, you’re very smart.” I laughed it off and said I’m not, and then he said in all seriousness, “No, really.” I mumbled “thanks” and changed the subject.

The truth is that I have no idea what I am doing. I do my job and hope to God my coworkers can’t see the fuck ups. I’m a perfectionist but satisfied with very little, professionally or personally. And I don’t think I’m alone in this. I asked my sister a few months ago, “When did you finally figure it out?” and she told me she still hasn’t. She is intelligent, put together, has an MBA, and is incredibly successful, but she still questions herself. I find this comforting. I look at those around me who appear confident and wonder if they feel like frauds too.

There are so few people I feel comfortable going to when I need support. Being vulnerable is scary as hell, because what if the person I’m seeking help from decides I’m not worth the time or energy? What if they are laughing at me behind my back? People are generally good, I truly believe that but it’s difficult to admit you need a shoulder to lean on, or guidance, or someone to pick you up because you aren’t quite strong enough to do it yourself.

I appreciate the compliments even though I may brush them off. I appreciate when other people tell me they’re bullshitting their way through life too. And I appreciate the amazing people in my life who make me feel worthy when I most need it. I hope I'm as good of a friend to you as you are to me.

Never Forget Jimmy Shelstad

I was just thinking about Jimmy, a close friend of mine. 

The summer before grade 12, my friend Jimmy was walking home from a party when a drunk driver hit and killed him. His body landed 40 feet from where he was hit. He died instantly.

I went online on an early Saturday morning. It was July 31, 2004, and a friend messaged me, telling me that "Jimmy died last night." I refused to believe it. I thought it was a cruel, mean-spirited, totally not funny joke. I called Jimmy's house, and when his mom answered the phone, I said, "Hi, is Jimmy there?"

All I could hear for what felt like forever was breathing on the other end of the line, and then she said with the deepest sadness I've ever heard, "Oh, sweetie, he was hit by a car last night."

I paused and then replied: "Is he okay?"

She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and said, "No. Beth, I'm so sorry... he didn't make it."

That afternoon, my then-boyfriend, two friends, and I drove to Jimmy's house to offer support to his family. Jimmy's mom and dad invited us in. We sat around the kitchen table, in shock. We didn't say much. We shared a few memories and laughs, but mostly we cried. 

I would never hear his voice again. I would never again hear his infectious laugh, hug him, skip school with him, or share our deepest thoughts and secrets. Jimmy was gone, and I couldn't understand why. He would never graduate high school, become an adult, or have a wife and children. Jimmy's mom and dad lost a son, and Jimmy's younger brother was now an only child. It was so unfair. 

In the coming months, I combed through the newspaper each day: I cut out every article about Jimmy, slipped it into a plastic sleeve, and put it in a binder. I would read the articles over and over, pouring over the words and telling myself I would never forget and never let him go.

A week or so after Jimmy died, 100+ people showed up at what came to be known as "Jimmy's Corner", the intersection where he was killed. We hugged, laughed, cried, and when the clock struck the time that he died, each of us lit a candle and walked him the rest of the way home. 

My life has moved on, while Jimmy will only ever be the memory of a 17-year-old boy. 

What are you grateful for today?

Yesterday my mom and I were in her car; she was driving us to an appointment I made with the florist for my and Chris’s wedding. Chris wasn’t with us, because flowers.

Mom glanced at me. “I’ve been thinking… do you remember I mentioned a few years ago about writing down three things you’re grateful for every day?”

I said yes, that I did remember.

She said, “Well, I’ve decided I’m going to do it. Will you do it with me?”

I said that I absolutely would. Why not, right? A little gratefulness is always welcome.

She said, “Great because I already bought each of us a notebook! I got mauve and green; which colour do you want?”

What brought this on is that my mom is retiring (for the second time) today. The first time was three or four years ago, when she retired from her 30-something-year career, thinking she was ready to slow down the pace of her life, travel more, and pick up new hobbies. It was a good thing she retired when she did, because not even one month later, my dad got into a very serious ski accident that resulted in a lot of broken bones, surgery, and months of physiotherapy. Had my mom still been working, no one would have been around to help him move around the house those first few weeks post-accident.

But eventually, he made a full recovery (and went skiing the very next winter!), and my mom, who has always been used to doing something, or taking care of something, suddenly had nothing to do or take care of. I mean really, a person can only make so many quilts or go out for coffee with friends so many times before going a little nuts. Within a few weeks, she had found another job.

Me and Mumsy

My mom loves working. It is a core piece of who she is. I, on the other hand, not so much. I do something I enjoy, and I’m happy with where I’m at… but when I think of who I am or someone says, “Tell me about yourself”… my job is not at all how I identify with or describe myself. My mom is totally the opposite. She likes being busy, having a schedule, being respected, accomplishing tasks, feeling important, and just the whole idea of what working means. She is a classic workaholic, and for as long as I’ve been alive, she has described herself in a way that directly ties into her job.

She told me last night that she anticipates a depression in the future. Not tomorrow, but eventually, because for so long she has identified herself by her job… and that’s not going to be there for her anymore. So… it’s not surprising at all that she wants to start recording the daily things she is grateful for.

She wants to get into the habit of appreciating everything in her life that isn’t work-related, so that when the depression comes, she has already begun to be grateful for things other than work. You train your brain to think positively. If you know you’re going to need to come up with three unique things each day that you are grateful for, your eyes and your heart will be open, all day, to each and every experience, wondering if that one thing will make today’s grateful list. It stands to reason, then, that you’ll generally be a happier, more positive person, because you are now conscious and aware of all the mundane yet wonderfully exciting things that you overlooked before.

Dogs

My dogs, Charlie & Chance, give me companionship, assistance, loyalty, and love. Knowing that they will be waiting for me when I come home, tails wagging and bundles of excitement is what I most look forward to in my day-to-day life.