All of the Little, Simple Things.
And it isn't a whole lot, either. But, you know, I think it's a lot more than many people do have, so I'm looking at the glass as being half-full. Bashing myself for what isn't right or what's missing never helped me in the past. Rarely has being hard on myself like that been a good motivation to change my situation.
I spent one week without a home. All of the possessions I could carry were in my car. As the evenings grew near, I would start to panic, wondering where I would stay, and wondering what I would do if I couldn't find a place. I felt adrift in the middle of Metro Vancouver, an area I didn't know well. I was without any anchor.
Inevitably, I'd get a room in some motel, which I could hardly afford to spend the money I had left on. In the end, however, I had little choice. My world had shrunk so tight around me, that I had a hard time perceiving what was past the end of my nose. The world beyond that was not about to do me any favours -- it was up to me whether I swam or sank. At least I found a place to stay each night, to take a bath, and turn the t.v. on, to help keep my mind off my worries. I wound up crying anyway, until I was too tired and had no choice but fall asleep.
I couldn't carry much with me in the way of food, and the motel rooms I got didn't have kitchen facilities anyway. I grew to quickly detest sandwiches bought at gas station convenience stores and cheap cafes.
With the help of a guardian angel, I was able to move into a rooming house after that terrible week. I still live there today, although now it feels like home; it's been over two years now. One of the first things I did when I moved in was buy some simple groceries, then make myself a couple peanut butter and jam sandwiches. That simple pleasure felt like a miracle. I was so thankful for it, and for the security of having a permanent roof over my head, though it hardly felt like home. Memories like that stay with you -- they have with me, at least.
Though I don't have much today, it's more when I first moved in. For the first several months here, I had books, a radio, and c.d. pla
I'm not well off, but I'm okay. The only things that don't stay in my room are what goes in the fridge. The fridge has a lock on it, too, as we had one room-mate who was stealing everyone else's food in the middle of the night. I nearly cleaned his clock one day, and he disappeared some time ago.
This is how I've come to be content and thankful for what I have, rather than resent what I don't.