As usual, I’ve been battling (or sleeping through) depression, some of it because of legitimate life issues and some, as usual, not. One realization I’ve had this week is that I need to make a conscious effort to focus more on the positive things in my life, the things that are good and beautiful and rewarding.

I love Michael Hoeye’s Hermux Tantamoq books (Time Stops for No Mouse, etc.) They’re children’s chapter books, but I highly recommend them to anyone; they’re delightful adventures about a mouse watchmaker, who has a pet ladybug named Terfle. Every night before he goes to sleep, Hermux writes in his journal, and the entries always begin with “Thank you.” It’s not clear who or what he’s thanking, but the principle is cool: He lists all the things he’s grateful for in his life. I think I need to make a practice of doing this more often.

So one thing I realized I’ve already come to take for granted is the ease of getting around on foot. Yes, I’m totally over not having a car, and taking the bus is a huge pain, and I don’t love the fact that it’s mid-June and I still have the heat turned on in my apartment. BUT I realized the other day that my current favorite restaurant, the Qdoba down the hill, is probably the same distance from or further than the Chick-fil-A was from my house in Savannah. Plus, Savannah was completely even terrain; the walk home from Qdoba involves a steep ascent. But I don’t think I ever walked to that Chick-fil-A. That isn’t due only to laziness; it’s also because of two other factors: the heat/humidity, and the fact that I lived off a somewhat secluded road with a heavily wooded lot on one side. I felt secure in my home–if you’ve ever heard Bishop bark, you know a main reason why; the retired cop next door was another–but I didn’t feel particularly safe walking down that road, even during the middle of the day. One of the few times I did, a car pulled over and the driver kept trying to get me to step closer to help him decipher a hand-drawn map. It could have been totally innocuous, but no one else was around and I’ve read enough warnings about keeping a safe distance from strangers’ cars when they ask for directions to be wary.

So anyway, I now live in a place where I can walk around without feeling like I’m swimming through thick, humid air. This area is far more pedestrian-friendly than Savannah was. And I feel much safer in general.

Walking so much has helped me get into better shape, too. For the first time in years, I actually feel pretty good about this pile of flesh that I inhabit.

What else? I’m publishing several short stories. I have interesting freelance work, including a job where I get to do some photography as well as writing. I live right by a park, perfect for walking Bishop, who hasn’t had any more seizures. I’ve had adventures since moving here–the beach, the zoo, museums–and I’m sure there are more to come. The cats are bearers of profound peace and love (as well, of course, as some chaos and insanity, but it wouldn’t be my life without those). And every night, there’s a SLUG or two leaving silver trails across my patio.

Years ago, in an essay about a very dark time in my life, I wrote, One day I realize I’m smiling, and it’s for no better reason than that the sun is shining and I’m with a good friend. When Erin, the good friend in question, read this, she said, “This is what happiness feels like.”