Thanksgiving Gratitude

Remembering All the Good

Britney and I in Morrocco last year

For a long time—especially pre-sobriety—I was a “negative Nelly.” (In some ways I still can be, depending on my mood and life circumstances.) Despite the privileges I grew up with (mostly class) I always found a way to denounce things; “capitalism,” when I was an angry punk rock teen; “convention” and the “middleclass” in my early and mid-twenties; higher education and marriage in my late twenties and early thirties.

And yet here I am, 42 years old next month (December 31^st, New Year’s Eve; I was a hair under ten pounds and broke my mom’s tailbone when born!), married to a beautiful woman I love, living in a city I cherish, planning a move abroad to Spain which is our new dream; with three cats I couldn’t live without, even if they anger me daily in various ways.

I wanted to live in New York City; I did that. I wanted to finally travel to Africa and Asia by the time I was 40; I did that. I wanted to fall in love with someone I truly loved and who understood me; I did that. I wanted to publish a book at last; I’ve now published two of them. (Click here for the memoir and here for the YA punk novel).

More or less I’ve basically always done things my way, in my time and on my terms. How rare is that? Has life thrown up walls, hurdles, locked gates, etc? Absolutely. My decade of grotesque hardcore blackout drinking almost killed me many times over. My wild hitchhiking adventures for months at a time all over America almost did the same. My refusal to do things the “normal,” “conventional,” “average,” “reasonable” way throughout most of my life often left me lonely, depressed, sad, angry and confused.

But I got to be there for my father as he slowly died of cancer. I got to hold his hand, tell him how much he meant to me, leave New York City behind to care for him. I got to help my mom with her physical and emotional struggles around losing her husband of 47 years and dealing with knee and back issues. I have been able to stay sober for now over 14 years, since 2010. I was 27 years old when I walked into my first AA meeting, and now I’m nearly 42. Life is wild, man.

I’ve never, ever truly been afraid of losing an apartment, being homeless, being on the streets, being totally disconnected from family or close friends. Through it all my mom and dad were there for me, and many close friends were, too. (This continues now.)

I still complain about a lot of things and quite often. Like many of us I get bogged down, mired in the linguistic and social mud of politics, feeling that powerful “need” to express my opinions, to show you how wrong you are. I’m human. Weak, deeply flawed, genetically and environmentally driven (probably more than I care to admit), and needy in my ways. I am a man who has made many, many, many mistakes in his time. Were I to die tomorrow I’d leave behind—between computer and physical journals, short stories, novels, Substack posts, etc—probably millions of words about my life, experiences, thoughts, fears, taboo feelings, etc. The good, the bad and the ugly, baby.

I’ve never been shy about my views or about who I am. I know I’m intense; that’s my inherent nature. I know I’m a good writer (but am I a “great” one?) I know I have some good habits and some bad. I know I can be incredibly confused, selfish and even cruel sometimes; I also know I have the capacity to be profoundly loving, loyal and generous.

With all that said: I am grateful, man. For friends, family, for the time I had with my father (precious time), for being an American in 2024 (what luck!!!), for never having to truly struggle economically in ways I know many Americans have had to struggle, for my sobriety, for the craft of writing, for books, for freedom, for my wife, for our cats, for Portland, for our plans to move to Spain. All of it.

It's bizarre being a human being in a certain time and place, isn’t it? For hundreds of thousands of years man has roamed the earth. How many souls have perished? How many lived just as intensely in their time and place? One day I will die and everyone I know will die and more generations will come. Hundreds, then thousands, perhaps even millions of years will pass. This moment right now will be only a faded, distant memory.

So hold those who you love and cherish close. We get this one precious, brief moment. Like Nabokov said: Life is but a brief crack of light between two eternities.

Gaze into that brief crack of light. Hold it. Honor it.

Be grateful.

~

Happy Thanksgiving, All!

~

Michael Mohr