Gratitude

In the 90 gruelling minutes on the treadmill this morning (I know I don't look the type, but hey, just humour me, okay?), the sounds of the neighbour mowing his lawn drowned out by Billy Idol snarling through my headphones, a myriad of thoughts filled my brain.

The smell of the freshly cut grass, perhaps the first in the spring of 2013, which is neither here or there, wafted through the air and I suddenly felt homesick. I missed my Mom, my Dad, my brothers, my sister, my friends from school and my childhood haunts.

While the Rock 'n' Roll blared and I peeled away the kilometres under my feet, between sips of Berocca infused water, I took stock. Who am I? What am I doing here? What have I got to show for myself? Some of the answers, damning as they were of my inadequacies, faults and inconsistencies came loud and clear. Thoughts of betrayal and backstabbing, of fallen idols and ruined friendships, dark as they are, are part and parcel of my life as anybody else's. It was too early in the day for this kind of morbidity though. There were better things on my mind too.

The other answers were thankfully, much more forgiving. I have a lot to be grateful for. For memories, for family, for friends, for those who rely on me, trust me, love me, the respect of legions of people who look up to me. And I'm in love. I have been for more than two decades. I have my health - well I'm working on it - I have gainful employment, I can see and feel and smell and touch and I have people I can fall back on. I've had setbacks and outlived them. I've had children and I've raised them. I have staff and I'm able to take care of them. I have billions of synaptic connections in my head I wouldn't trade for anything. I am me. I think I'll be okay. 

The view from the treadmill brought home the sobering realisation that my field of dandelions needs tending. Unkempt gardens were never really my thing.