How I survived myself

   I sat looking out the window of a corner Starbucks for a few hours yesterday. Taking in the rain, the multitude of characters parading down Robson Street, and the other Starbucks located directly across from the one I happened to be sitting in. Placed there for the caffeine addicts to have something to be grateful for in the case of a dire emergency like a do not walk sign taking too long.
  

I had not wanted to be sitting in Starbucks, but after a fruitless hour long search in the pouring rain for a quaint teahouse, preferably one that served vegan delights, I finally cut my losses and entered the nearest establishment with the familiar green symbol on the door. It didn’t take long to find.
After reluctantly ordering my grande apple chai infusion and low fat cranberry muffin I found an empty bar style stool, laid my bag on the chair beside me and pulled out my journal to reflect on the events of the past day and a half.
  

The first words that make their way onto the page; I am scared. But then I change my mind. Yes, I am scared, but that’s probably not useful right now. Right now I need another word. Courageous… Hopeful. ..Fearless… my thoughts are interrupted by the words “excuse me” coming from the lips of a very attractive young man. He smiles at me as I jump a little at the shock of the interruption. “Is this seat taken?” I smile back, move my bag and think of another word for my journal when I notice that there are an abundance of available chairs in the near empty cafe. Single. He pulls off his varsity hockey hoodie and takes out his LSAT preparation books and I go back to looking extremely interested in my writings. I realize I am being more than judgmental as I ignore his constant glances in my direction.
 

I am…coming up empty handed. I look out onto the street and see a man with a ragged beard and worn jacket rummaging through the garbage can on the corner. A broad smile crosses his face as he pulls out a bottle to add to his collection. Gratitude lives in unexpected places.
 

I am…grateful. My fear is invisible. But my gratitude can be seen everywhere.
 

It lives in the golden leaves swirling through the wet air. It lives in the sweet warmth of my tea, the chipped red paint on my fingernails, and in the colourful pattern of threads in my scarf. It is in the images on the billboards that advertise abundance, in the umbrella of the little girl dancing as she waits for the lights to change. It is housed in the memory of childhood dreams.
 

Gratitude is spelled out in the pages of my book, in the smiles of strangers, and in the wool of the sweater of the man who searches for gold amidst the remains of empty coffee cups.
 

It is sung by the man on the radio, by the drops of falling rain. It lives in the tires of the bicycle waiting patiently for the return of its rider. Waiting to roll down these slick streets. Ready for joy.
 

It is in the anticipation of moments to come. In the stillness of this moment and in the beautiful tangle of stories that are my past.
 

Gratitude waits for me under a roof back home, in the hearts of the people I love, and here in the newness of change, in the arms of this city by the sea.

 I close my journal, and put on my jacket as handsome stranger looks up at me. “Good luck on your LSATS” and I make my way out into this great big beautiful world.