It’s 3:00 on Thursday and time for a blog post.

My desk looks out glass doors to our back yard which is just now lit green by grey skies and rain. Yellow leaves lay soggy on the grass, also brighter than life.

In a season of anxiety, I am very glad to be here. I like this old desk, brown lamp shade and those doors. I like the wet deck and our neighbour sauntering across the field behind our yard with his kids running in front of him, skirts flying. I like the thin line of scraggly bush that rims the field and lets me hide here in my lamplight, spying.

I’m trying to learn how to feel what I feel. Instead of running ahead of fear, I let it come. I breathe it in, hold it, and release: I am scared. Breathe. I am sad. Breathe.

And then, radical thought: Thank You.

I am scared. Breathe. Thank you.

Thank you God, for giving me this life and all – all – my feelings.

Thank you Melodie Beattie for teaching me to say thank you for them. To say it without forcing myself to feel thankful. To say it as an act of faith. To say it against the feeling.

Another leaf zig-zags down and lands soft on the grass, a glowing spot of yellow.