I have a lot to be thankful for.
After my 80-hour shift, I went out to run and met the Girl, who was just done with yoga. We had a nice, relaxed evening, just the three of us. It's probably the first time in a few weeks that has happened.
Things are just clicking right now. It looks like the Girl will get her green card; we have both been worried about that, since we really don't have a back-up plan if we can't move. Also, she just got a research paper accepted for publication. I have gotten into exactly the fellowship I wanted (hematology at University of Copenhagen) starting exactly when I want (January 1st).
Non-runners won't understand it, but my running shape determines a lot of my happiness, sometimes more than the big-picture developments. And I am in decent shape these days. As a 33-year old, I am still kicking. While not as fast as my younger days, I am finding more and more endurance and expanding my repertoire.
I have won all the races I entered this year; except for Chippewa 50 and two triathlons, races that have been outside my usual comfort zone. It's been so much fun; I have a lot to be thankful for.
And I am married to the Girl. We work a little too much right now, but whenever we have time off together it seems like we are able to live some unforgettable experience. I am still so in love with her, as corny as it sounds.
My kids are healthy and cool. They will do great in life and they will be my pillars until I die.
It's all clicking.
But I am writing for another reason. I just ran into a nurse practitioner, whom I have always liked. We said hi and exchanged the usual pleasantries of acquaintances, while walking across the parking lot. She asked my=a about biking and I said I ride all the time these days. Then she looked at me and said "Don't forget to wear your helmet; my husband was hit by a car and has been in the ICU with a spinal cord injury for two weeks now".
What do you say to that? All the positive things in my life are great, but if I was in the ICU fighting for my life, they wouldn't matter much. That poor man and that poor woman. It's hard to imagine what they are going through.
And all the peripheral stuff just shouldn't get to me. It's just not important. It's that old piece of advice that so many every dying patient have offered me: enjoy life; it goes so fast. Smell the roses. Love and be loved. And be thankful for what you have.