On a recent evening commute, a woman boarded the bus and rushed towards me. Rather than sit, she seemed to fall into the empty seat beside mine, a mound of heavy coat, thick scarf, and several bags. She wedged a bag between her feet and dug through her purse producing a pen and ragged notepad. Flipping frantically through its frayed pages, she peered at me over glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
“I have to make a list of things I’m thankful for.” she said with irritation.
I didn’t ask why, but glanced at her notepad. She was grateful for some important things, with “health” and “job” written so far on her list. She saw me looking.
“I need ideas. What are you thankful for?” She sounded aggravated.
I thought back to when my daughter was small. I told the woman how my daughter’s eyes lit up when we…
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