My life really isn't so bad, even when it feels like it (Part 1,872: Felicia)

Her name is Felicia, and she's the 47-year-old mom of three. She's been abused. She ran here from Illinois a year ago. She's fought fear all her life. It's paralyzed her. Fear of her abuser. Fear of independence. 

I met her last week. Interviewed her for a story due today about a local nonprofit that helps homeless folks get on their feet and gives them a place to stay while they do. 

She's a sweet woman. She's also had most of her life robbed from her. 

It's such a broken world we live in. 

Yet the world I live in is so good. I have a home. My wife and I are independent. We're not in debt. We both have steady work. We're living in a dreamland for folks like Felicia.

And I moan and complain about having to cut the grass. I whine about not feeling motivated. I waste time.

I need to grow up. I've grown a lot lately, in the past year. But apparently, not enough.

I still take too much for granted. 

I get to tell stories. I've been given the ability, the talent, the skill, by God. I've been given the opportunity by so many people. I have a wife who believes in me. 

This morning, I was angry and upset and depressed over a mistake made on my book's back cover copy. Fixing it will cost some money and perhaps delay the publication. Maybe it won't delay it. But it was still an expensive mistake. 

Felicia just wants a job. She just wants to live independent. Independent of help. Independent of fear. 

I feel for Felicia.

I feel thankful for my life. The mistake on the book was expensive, but not costly. 

I forget to be thankful because I am driven and passionate and want to do everything perfectly and great so everyone is really happy while also really amazed at what I've done.

This is a good kind of pride, I believe. But I'm easily amazed at myself, at the mistakes I sometimes make.

I just don't want to make this mistake too often, because forgetting to be thankful can be costly.

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