Today reminds me of a typical overcast gray Michigan day. It rained this morning, gave way to a bit of sunshine and has now returned to a dismal gray day. To be honest, I welcome this. I grew up under an overwhelmingly gray sky and there are days when I miss it. Being reminded of my hometown helps with the writing. The fact that I meet so many people on a weekly basis who have moved here from Michigan is interesting. The other day I went to Park City and I thought of Ann Arbor, without the breathtaking mountain views of course, but there are little pieces of this place that rekindle Midwest feelings. Tiny bits that trigger nostalgia but also make it clear that the past is the past. There is no going home now. I am home. The bonus of knowing yourself is that you carry around what’s important to you in your heart. Physical homes are arbitrary. What matters is what you see when you peer inside your soul.

It's easier to write about Michigan now that I don’t live there. I am aware of the bad, but I also remember the great things as well. It’s the simple things that you hold on to. Like driving down Haggerty Road, in-between 8 and 9 Mile roads, before every inch of that little drive was industrialized. The little peak of a mini-hill covered in fall leaf foliage, the absence of buildings, and the sense of affluence and upwardly mobile people. The little twist of the road that long ago provided a quick, quaint scenic view of what Michigan truly is: trees and open fields, space and untapped agriculture. I don’t enjoy what Michigan has become but, like a disenchanted lover, I had my time with that state. There were snapshots of time where I loved it and felt it’s fervor running through my veins. I carry the good with me and store the bad somewhere under lessons learned. Or maybe, lives lived.

Thoughts and ideas tumble around in my head and become fodder for writing. One day, when I least expect it, exactly what I need comes out. This morning I woke up achy and contemplated going back to sleep. I was pretty sure nothing would get accomplished today. There was laundry to do, chapters to be edited and as usual, dishes in the sink, but yesterday was taxing and my productivity outlook was low. I rolled over in bed, my throat scratchy and my legs burning, and thought: There is one thing, and one thing only that will stop this cycle. If you fail to do it, it is a message that you don’t want anything but what you already have. The human mind, body and soul can withstand and endure a hundred times more than the challenges your life has presented to you.

The best thing to do when you are on the fence about whether or not you should feel sorry for yourself is to start where you are. Take a quick inventory of your current state and start giving thanks for the good things. I was in the bed so I started right there. Thank you for this bed to sleep on. Not everyone has a bed. Thank you for the jobs I have. They helped me pay for the bed. Oh, and the apartment and the heat that just kicked on. The warm scent that hangs in the air from the zucchini bread I baked Friday night. The tangle of soft covers wrapped around my body. Etc. You get the point. Right there, in that uneventful little life scene were endless things to be thankful for.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve allowed two characters I hadn’t really given a chance, to become full and alive, live. Ian and Kelly are not people I’d hang around but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their good points or that I can’t understand where they are coming from. I feel much better about the chapter I was working on and think that they come off as characters with substance. They are like Michigan. I had to step away from them in order to take a more objective look. There was more to their story and I’m finally ready to listen.