In the last several months, I have grown to be very thankful for so many of the wonderful things in my life. When something bad happens, it is very easy for us to ask the heavens, "Why??" However, we rarely question why the good things happen in our lives, though they are equally unexplained. For example, why should I have been born in a loving family? Why should I have been encouraged to read as a child? In fact, why should I have been educated at all?
Because these things are equally beyond our control, the only proper response we can have is to be thankful. And since this blog is my only real forum for thoughts like this, I'll indulge in my thankfulness within a literary perspective.
I am thankful for all the nights my mother read to me while I was tucked in bed.
I am thankful for all the libraries that loaned me countless books free of charge.
I am thankful for all the books my family and friends gave me as presents over the years.
I am thankful for all my English teachers who encouraged my reading and writing.
I am thankful for all my undergraduate studies that opened my mind to the world of literature.
I am thankful for Dostoevsky, Steinbeck, Ellison, James, Hardy, Faulkner, and so many others who chose to publish their beautiful thoughts and stories.
And I am thankful for all of you who take time out of your day to look at this little blog.
Happy Thanksgiving to all.