DAY TWENTY THREE: I’m grateful to all the creatives who enrich our lives, through art, music, literature, theatre, dance, film, photography—where would we be without the storytellers, the singers, and the poets? Those who look at this life and reflect it back to us as something new? Marking our hearts with memories that carry us across the ages, until we draw our last breath? Life would be unbearable without them. It would go on, but what would be the point?
DAY TWENTY TWO: There is so much beauty in this world.
DAY TWENTY-ONE: Even in a pandemic, books are published around the world. Here’s the cover for White Chrysanthemum, published in Macedonia during this tumultuous year: Белата хризантема
DAY TWENTY: This guy is still sprouting. It’s a little like watching children grow, seeing the small yet perceptible changes at the end of each day. In the right conditions, life goes on.
DAY NINETEEN: A hot cup of coffee, dreaming of Paris
DAY EIGHTEEN: I’m so grateful for poetry collections. These are a few that fill my days with love, anger, sadness, joy—all the emotions that make us human—and help me reflect on the beauty and pain of life. (Basho: On Love and Barley; Sharon Olds: Stag’s Leap; Kim Addonizio: Tell Me)
DAY SEVENTEEN: It’s a small thing, but I’m grateful for each morning that arrives because there was a time when I didn’t know if I would survive another day. Losing hope was one of the darkest moments in my life, while finding it again was one of the brightest. It was a gradual process, taking many years to finally feel like myself again, but I’m here, and I’m happy that I am, and that is enough.
DAY SIXTEEN: We’re about halfway through December, and today I’m feeling weary, yet grateful, this beast of a year is nearly over. Goodbye 2020, you have been abominable.
DAY FIFTEEN: Today I’m grateful for friendships that have endured the test of time. Even when the flames burn low, the bonds remain and need very little kindling to burn bright once again. Cheers to friendships that don’t burn out. 🥂
DAY FOURTEEN: The deep, dark tones resonating from Yo-yo Ma’s cello suppress the silence, the loneliness, of another lockdown, and I am grateful for his mastery.