In Western Pennsylvania, we don't have those bright blue sky and sunshine winters. Those are the winters I dream about. You know, the places where you wake up and are met with sun sparkling off the freshly fallen snow? Nope, not us. Our winter seems to last almost half the year when you live through it, though the internet says it's merely "3.1". And the majority of those days are dreary, dark and gray. Often it feels like a season to just be endured.
As Thanksgiving approaches, my recent struggle with gratitude and contentment weigh heavily on my mind. I’ve been finding myself restless and busy, unsettled and striving. More than I’d like to admit, I’ve been astray in a losing battle of comparison over my home, appearance, and children. I’m neck-deep in it. Major transitions and changes - though I’ve become adept at the outward processes - have a way of thrusting me into self-made trenches.
