I've always had family. Not every member of the extended family was wonderful, but there were those who were magical - I've already written about my grandparents in this LJ, and of what they meant to me. My parents can be an annoyance sometimes, and they can be busybodies who believe that having granted me the boon of existence entitles them to control said existence to a greater or lesser extent - but they are loving busybodies who don't do anything without an honest and utterly sincere desire to do something that would be good for me. The fact that their perspective is sometimes different from mine and the definition of "good for me" might vary is not the issue here - the issue is that I've never ever felt alone or abandoned or unloved. I've never been abused or even wallopped, outside of a few childhood smacks. I've been raised lovingly, and well. And then - and this is family too - I got married to someone who has never, not even in the worst of times, been anything less than loving, supportive, and behind me all the way in whatever I chose to do. He gets annoyed at me when I get into my pessimistic moods and start building Worst Case Scenarios, or when I freak out because there's mice in the house, and I get the occasional sigh and grumpy mood and an indingnant toss of his head and a roll of the eyes - but then we laugh together, again, and, well, let's put it this way - it's been six years and counting in this marriage now, and we've had maybe two serious squabbles in that time. The rest of our days are love and laughter. How lucky is that?
I've always had friends. They don't necessarily remain lifelong friends, but I've always had someone, somewhere - and some of them HAVE been in my life for nearly thirty years now. I know how to treasure that.
I've always had the dream. I'm living it. Dreams are the fuel of the soul, they're what keeps us going when the going gets tough. I'm living it. I'm *living* it. I look on my bookshelves and some of them are filled with books with MY name on the spine. I cannot begin to tell you what that does to me - what that STILL does to me, years after the first time I saw it, and what it will continue to do to me for the rest of my natural life. This is what I've always wanted to be and to do - to be a writer, to write - to hold a book with MY words inside of it. There's an altar in the back of my mind and I burn candles of gratitude there every day to whatever gods might be passing and paying attention - I am grateful. I know what I asked for. I know it was a huge thing, and I know how many ask it and how few, relatively speaking, are granted this particular boon. But I was one of the privileged ones, the lucky ones, one of the few whose wishes were heard and granted.
I've always had ENOUGH. I've had shelter, even comfort, even luxury. I might have watched war but I've never been under a gun. I've always had clean air, clean water. I've been surrounded by people who love me, pets who depend on me and love me, books, *coffee* (never underestimate the power of addictions). Money. Not the kind of money where I could walk out and buy a dozen Porsches off the showroom floor, but enough. ENOUGH. I travel. I pay my bills. I can indulge in the occasional "But I WANT it" excess. I eat well.
I eat well. I have never been hungry, nor had to count the pennies to see if I had enough for a loaf of bread.
And that's what started this particular post. This.