Unhappy is as unhappy does?

I once worked for a very wealthy couple who owned and operated their own business. They lived in a mansion in one of the nicest parts of town, both drove big luxury cars, and sent their kids to the best schools in the country. And when their kids graduated college, they either gave them jobs in their firm or purchased them their own companies. (Seriously. And that’s outside of graduation gifts!)

At the time I was hired, the contrast with my own life was stark. My husband had just lost his job, we had to sell our home, and worse, had to give our dog away because she was too big for apartment life. My kids had to move into a tiny bedroom together that was barely big enough for one person, much less two growing boys. It’s not an exaggeration to say they hated us both. It was a difficult period for all of us, and I couldn’t help giving in to more than a little envy when I looked at all my employers had. It wasn’t like they hid their wealth, after all. In fact, the level of their material worth was practically thrown in my face daily.

So it was with some shock that I realized, not long after I settled into the job, that these were not happy campers. These people were miserable most of the time, and they didn’t hide that either. From where I sat, just outside the wife’s office at one end of the big, long building, I could hear her conversations with her husband, whose office was at the other end of the building. (Before you think I was eavesdropping, I wasn’t. They often communicated by intercom, and often their conversations would echo down the corridor!) In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for them to conduct heated “discussions” via the intercom. This couple made it no secret that they had embraced unhappiness.

I worked for them for a full year before finding a different job, and despite the difficult and stressful work environment, I’m grateful to them for teaching me one of the greatest lessons of my life: It’s true–money does not buy happiness.

So while I thought about what to write about this week, Thanksgiving week, and about my many blessings, I thought what better topic could there be than to express thanks for those intangibles in life that bring us joy but cannot be purchased, can only be freely given, and freely received.

So here’s my “I’m grateful for” list for Thanksgiving 2011. . .

First, for God, for creating a world of such beauty, and for filling it with sights and sounds and tastes for our pleasure. He gave us food for sustenance, animals for unconditional love, and friends for helping us enjoy the good times and endure the bad.

Second, that I was somehow (through fate maybe?) born in a country that cherishes individual rights and personal freedoms. I can go to my church and worship without fear of persecution. I can travel freely. I can spend my time with whom and how I want. I’m free to pursue my dreams, or not. I’m free to succeed, and I’m free to fail and start over. Now those are blessings.

Third, I’m grateful for those who are reading this blog, and for those whose support and words of encouragement have meant so much to me over the past couple years as I’ve pursued my writing journey.

Lastly (but never least), I’m thankful for my mother. She’s no longer with us, but she taught me and my sister that the greatest, most important “thing” in the world is love. She not only preached those words, but she lived by them every day. So I thank Mom for opening my eyes to the gift of love, in all its forms, and I thank the many who have come into my life and shared their love with me.

Where would I be today without my big sister who’s been watching out for me for so many years? (I’ll reserve the whole throwing-me-off-her-rocking-horse episode for another day. <grin>)  Where would I be without my husband who cheers me on and nourishes my dreams and cares for me in so many ways? Or my children who make me so proud, not just for their accomplishments, but for the men they’re growing to be? I’m thankful for my new-found sister whose strength and courage are an inspiration to me. I’m thankful too for my extended family and friends who make me smile just to hear their voices, my “sisters” and “brothers” borne not of the same blood, but through years of shared joys and sorrows.

Both Mom and those former employers taught me that all the “stuff” in the world is meaningless without the love of family and friends, and a heart open to love. So this Thanksgiving, I wish all across the country (and around the world) a safe and joyous day. I wish you freedom to practice your faith and courage to pursue your dreams. I hope that, above all, you too will be rich as I am in the love of family and friends.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thank you, New Jersey

New Jersey gets a bad rap. I know that because I spent most of my growing and adult years in the state named for its gardens but known for its highways. It’s the state where I raised my children, the state where I learned to drive, learned to cook (well, sort of), and learned the love of writing. So it’s fitting, to me, that it’s the state where I was reminded, this past weekend, of the special power in the love of friends.

I just returned from my first-ever conference devoted to romance writing. Sponsored by the New Jersey chapter of Romance Writers of America, the annual conference brings together writers as distant as Canada and the Virgin Islands to meet and attend workshops led by those who have experiences and skills to share. So for three days every October, the conference hotel is overrun by (mostly) women carrying bags of each other’s freebies, chatting about and sharing what they learned and what they dream, discussing the industry and where it’s headed, and, most importantly (to me), renewing friendships and making new friends.

Seeing the lobby full of women hanging out and catching up got me thinking about friendship, about how lucky I’ve been throughout my life to have made supportive and loving friends who have shared my fears and joys and enriched my life in so many ways. I’ve been blessed over and over with treasured relationships that are so much a part of me, their names and faces are rarely far from my mind. Some are in Florida, some in Texas and the Midwest, and some right there in Jersey where we lived until about four years ago.

When my husband and I moved from Jersey, I knew it would be hard, but I counted on our ability to keep in touch through the wonders of e-mail, Facebook and video chats. And we have, but it’s not the same. We all know that. As wonderful as the new technology is, it can’t take the place of those face-to-face meetings, the long walks in the morning or late at night, the family barbeques and New Year’s Eve parties, and the shared cups of coffee after church. And that’s what I miss most. So I used the Jersey writers’ conference as a chance to fill my depleting cup of “friend time” back to the brim.

Armed with a few extra days off from work, I planned time with those Jersey friends, and I’m so glad I did. It was wonderful seeing again the people who have helped me and my husband through some of the toughest days of our marriage and who have shared some of our greatest joys. But it wasn’t enough, and now here I am, after the long weekend, back in Virginia, reminded once again of all that I left behind when we packed up our belongings and headed south on I-95.

Oh, I joke on Facebook about missing real bread and pizza, about missing people who pronounce “ricotta” as ri-got—and the ability to find decent ri-got in the stores. Sometimes I tire of southern drivers’ patience on the roadways and wish they could find just a little bit of New Jerseyans’ fill-the-gap impatience. (There are times I have to contain the screams in my head for the southern driver in front of me who will neither keep up to traffic nor move out of my way.  But that’s whole other blog topic.)

But if I could turn back the clock, I’d think a little bit harder about what it would mean to leave those friends I’ve made in the state. How it would feel to know that finances dictate when and where I can see them, and that I’d have to use the excuse of a writers’ conference to make that trip. (On another side note, I’m now researching must-attend conferences in Florida and Texas.)  I would probably still choose to move—another decision dictated by finances—but maybe I’d have been a little more prepared for how hard it would be to live without those day-to-day contacts that, to me, form the meaning of life.

So thank you, New Jersey (and NJRW), for reminding me of the value of fellowship within a community. Thank you for reminding me of the importance of stretching our imaginations and reaching for our dreams. But thank you, most of all, for giving me the opportunity to recharge my friend “battery.” I needed it.