“My apartment, less than 500 square feet, with its patchwork linoleum kitchen floor and full bookshelves and expansive view of the mountains, the sound, the shipyard. This is my refuge, and I have enough money to pay the rent. Here I take baths and sit at my dining room table which is really a kitchen table and also a desk, and write my book. My book, which will someday be in the world. The sloppy and graceful curves of my plants adorning my windowsills. The cheap shag rug, and my yoga mat. This city, where my mother took her own life, and my being here with her ghost, which lives at the Pike Place Market and in a dilapidated rental in Leschi. The understanding that gratitude does not have to be pretty. It can hurt, and with the pain comes gratitude for sensation. For being alive.”—Stacy Selby (@stace_selby), author
“I’m grateful for the color of the tips of the hemlock trees in the late afternoon, the way the sun drips a warm honey down the trees, mixing perfectly with the green. Over the long winter it seemed like the color was always with me with the sun riding so low in the sky, and it made the early darkness bearable. As we stretch into spring, and as the smell of woodsmoke gives way to that of pine sap and forest, I find excuses to stay out in the park as long as I can to watch the color change.”—Lisa Holt, poet and educator
Steven Genise is an author and editor based in Seattle. He loves reading about all the things you’re grateful for. If you’d like to be included, email him at firstname.lastname@example.org or DM him on Twitter @StevenGenise.