Be thankful.

Thanksgiving has become a measuring station for me.

Surrounded by people from my past, I have this strong urge to prove myself and my position in life. Even if I don’t come home for the holiday, I envision classmates huddle up in a booth at Bob’s Lounge discussing their lives and depicting different people from our class as if we were baseball players and you can find all of our stats on 2 inches by 4 inches baseball card.

“Hmm, Heather Mangan. What is she up to these days?” they would say as gulping light beer and grazing over the bar’s distinctively delicious popcorn.

“Oh, she moved across the ocean and has this incredible job and gorgeous boyfriend,” one would inform the others, proud of their Facebook stalking capabilities.

“Gosh, her life sounds fantastic compared to our dull, married lives that are littered with children.”

Since none those facts are true about my life (at least not now) that conversation probably hasn’t happened. Nor do I believe that my classmates have any desire to actually know where my life has gone.

Still, the idea looms that somebody, maybe a former teacher or a friend of my parents, will ask me about my life. What can I tell them? And can I be proud of it?

Some years, my story is bright and I’m proud to tell it. Other years, I just prefer no one notices me. This year, it’s the former.

I’ve got a lot to be thankful in the year 2009. Each year, as I continue to evolve as a person so do my list of gratitude. New things appear and old things sudden become blessings while the important things last year prove to have never been important at all. To look at those lists is a great reflection and affirmation that maybe I can make it in this world.

These lists are also a good reminder in February 7 and July 23 and any other day of the year. Always be thankful. Always.

This year, here are things that I’m most thankful for:

Sunny days
The first time I hear a song and instantly know it will be a favorite
Writing words that give me goose bumps as they pour out of my fingers
Cheese and crackers conversation
Chaotic lifestyle that comes with dream chasing
Hearing someone’s life story
Four magical words uttered from a loved one’s mouth: “I believe in you.”
The soothing reassurance of tea
A well-written lede that comes with a corresponding ending
Creativity’s power and addiction
God-given optimism
The stupidity to chase a dream and not give up when the world says you should.
Passionate people, from farmers to engineers to artists
Not one, but two wonderful jobs
Anyone who is willing to read what I write
Two arms, two legs, eye sight, hearing, smell and functioning organs
The closest and most inspirational friends I may have ever had
Two, wonderful parents who still love each other after so many years
Two brothers who would break the world for me
A life. A very, very good life.

Two lives

There are two lives. For me, there is the one I dream about and the one I actually live.

In college, I fantasized about an adult life. Early mornings with a run, “TODAY” and a hearty organic breakfast. Nights would allow for sitcoms, the nightly news and books. Not textbooks, but real books. I would volunteer, paint and learn to play the guitar. I would become good at cooking and host excellent parties. Those dreams of this “normal life” got me through a life dominated by three jobs and schoolwork. All of it would pay off in this steady, but happy routine life, I continually told myself.

As a young reporter fresh out of college in a community hundreds of miles away from everything I knew, I tried to adapt these fantasies of what I thought life should be like. It didn’t work. Working 2 p.m. to midnight didn’t provide much of a stable or social life. Being a full-time reporter was also much harder than I anticipated. So, I abandoned the attempts at an ideal life to focus on my job. I still made some time to run, but all of my thoughts were focused on that next story. Or how maybe I couldn’t hack it as reporter and if I even wanted to.

When my expectations of life out of college weren’t met, I was eager to change that, even if it meant leaving journalism. I convinced myself that a life beyond the newsroom was more stable and healthier. Looking around at many of then-single coworkers, I decided that in order to have a family and life like my friends in regular jobs, I would need to leave the business. That’s not a sound judgment, but at the time, it made perfect sense to me.

So I left my job, journalism and my new city for a more comfortable career and town. Now in a regular 8-5 job, I could have this stable life that put me to sleep at night when thoughts of my actual life kept my mind turning. I ran in the morning, cooked myself eggs that I ate with Matt and Meredith. After work – at a job I thoroughly enjoy – I cooked dinner and jetted off to volunteer at my church or the local domestic abuse shelter. On some nights, I would enjoy drinks and conversation with friends or lock myself in my room with a movie or hours of writing. It was a simple, but enjoyable life.

Eventually, I became restless. I should’ve anticipated my boredom with steadiness, but I refused to believe that I had become unhappy in the life I desired for so long.

Maybe it was the town or being in a place for more than a year, but something had to change. I took up a new venture, one that soaked up every ounce of my free time. To make it work, I’d have to keep that steady job, but my activities outside of it would solely be dedicated to this one goal.

Early morning runs were replaced with precious moments of sleep to cover up late nights. Healthy, home-cooked dinners gave away to gas station conveniences and fast food. My beloved writing time diminished as to-do lists grew. And time to watch television or movies and read books evaporated and did the funds to do so.

I miss running every day. I miss volunteering. I miss watching TV and knowing what’s going on beyond my little world. But I love what I do.

I love it so much that I don’t mind the lifestyle that accommodates it. It’s not fun and I slightly envy my friends with regulated schedules, but I wouldn’t trade them.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m addicted to the chaos of this busy life. It’s who I am because it belongs to this passion.

At just 25 years old, I have time to run that marathon, to maneuver a five-course meal and write that novel. But at no other time in my life will I be able to pursue this goal.

Maybe, I’ll never have the life of a Real Simple article, but I can accept that now. My current life forces me to sacrifice normal activities. But a stable life, for me, would be without passion. And that, I cannot live with.