28 Nov

While cleaning my room today, I found something that was very dear to me, and that I thought I had lost. There I was, digging through pockets of purses, trying to find these Christmas presents that I bought three months ago (which I also lost, but that’s another story), when suddenly, my fingers in a tiny side pocket felt not plastic bag, like I was wishing, but something sharp and cold. Brow furrowed, I dug deeper, trying to finagle whatever was in that pocket out into my hand. Finally, the mystery item sprung forth, into the palm of my hand – two tiny diamond earrings that have been missing for almost a year. I would have sworn I had searched every purse in that bucket, at least twice. But here they were, yielded by my favorite black bag I got from Lenox Mall just before my freshman year of college. I felt like Carrie, when she had given up for lost her Carrie necklace, only to find it in the lining of her vintage Chanel purse. My earrings, however, had last made an appearance New Years Eve, and in the following months filled with breakups, moving, and job upheavals, I had counted these tiny treasures as lost forever.

I love unexpected surprises. I also love searching for something and finding something else, something better. Especially something that I’d given up on. It’s one of life’s little awesome tricks, and I love waking up each morning not knowing that good thing may happen that day.

For instance. Every holiday, I have this image in my head of the family getting together and getting along, making whatever day one of those perfect, exciting holidays much like the ones I remember from my childhood. However, that’s silly, and I think this family of whom I speak stopped pretending to get along for my sake the older I got. And it hit me, after this Thanksgiving – why do I keep looking back, trying to recreate something that wasn’t even real to begin with? Why rely on others to make holidays happy? I’m looking around this world, trying to make something mine, trying to carve out my own little niche to make my own little home, and there is no reason why I can’t be in control of my own holiday happiness. So, next year, I am hosting Thanksgiving at my house, wherever I am. I am cooking. I am doing things according to my idea of what would make me happy and what Thanksgiving should be. And, hopefully, that would reduce the stress and resulting apathy of said family, making everyone’s holiday better. And though it won’t look like what I always thought it was supposed to look like, that doesn’t mean it won’t turn into something even better. Maybe, while looking for something else, we will find something even better.

Keep searching, loyal readers. Don’t rest until you find what makes you happy.


One Response to “26”


  1. Nightmare in 808 | The Year of Things - October 28, 2012

    […] written several times about my wish to host Thanksgiving at my own home; I feel like a perverse Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart, wanting to cook and bake […]

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