There's plenty to be thankful for this November

Is there any possible news story that could blow the exhaustive (and exhausting) coverage of a presidential election out of the headlines? The answer, as we all know now, is yes: a hurricane.

By the time you read this, election 2012 will be history. Don't worry, I'm not about to chime in with my take on the race for the White House. I am thinking more these days about other houses: my own, and those demolished by Superstorm Sandy.

As the storm battered New York and New Jersey I watched CNN's live coverage with equal measures of awe and fascination. Watching that broken crane swinging menacingly over New York City streets was frightening. Imagining the terror of the people caught in the storm's path was inconceivable. But I must admit that there's also an element of entertainment value for me in watching those dedicated on-the-scene reporters battle the elements while trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

For example, I watched as the leaning tower of Anderson Cooper gamely provided a running commentary on the storm's progress while he swayed almost sideways in the gale winds, his usually tame white hair whipping into his eyes. I wondered, as I do during coverage of every catastrophic storm, what would happen if the weather got the better of those intrepid news hounds. What if Cooper was taken out by an errant sheet of flying plywood or a seven-foot wave of churning floodwater? Reporters are typically positioned in the center of the fray, or at least as close as police blockades will allow. I can't decide whether this is dedication or death wish.

On the heels of catastrophe you will inevitably hear someone comment, “This sure puts things in perspective.” And while this has been true for me during countless bouts of cranius rectus (the condition of having my head up my ass), I also know that awareness of other people's pain does not lessen my own. I am definitely grateful my home is not reduced to a pile of seawater-soaked rubble, but that doesn't mean I have no right to feel badly about my own current struggles.

There is a world of difference between the cement-gray weight of genuine difficulty and the gooey swamp of self pity. Self pity with an alcohol chaser used to be my drug of choice. In recovery I learned that no one is immune from pain. Equally important, I learned that pain, like pleasure, is a temporary condition. Trudging through pain is part of the human experience; it's your attitude during the trudge that will make or break you.

I say this knowing full well that I have never stared in the face of true devastation. I've suffered losses, yes, but my life has also showered me with an abundance of blessings. Ironically, I didn't have an inkling of true sorrow until after I achieved sobriety.

It's November, the month of Thanksgiving. I wish there could be the same excitement leading up to that day as there is to Christmas--without the frenzied shopping. I'd like to see everyone as psyched about counting their blessings as they are about pumpkin pie and Black Friday sales.

The East Coast residents who lost their homes will undoubtedly feel gratitude for having their loved ones alive beside them for another holiday. The residents who lost loved ones... I wouldn't presume to guess what's in their minds or hearts.

For myself, I am grateful for my own loved ones: my two-legged and four-legged family, my friends, my co-workers, my fellow recoverees. I am grateful to be alive, well and employed. I am grateful that my happiness doesn't depend on a six-figure bank account or owning the latest model car on the block. I used to worry sometimes that I wasn't ambitious enough, that I was settling for too little. Now I believe my contentment is another blessing.

Some people's lives are dominated by the itchy desire to continually acquire more. More clothes, more money, more electronics, more status. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't appreciate having more money, but when I think of more money I think of having a margin of ease and comfort, not buying the latest Apple gadget. I don't want to be envied for all I've got; I want to be valued for who I am.

Yikes, that didn't sound too pretentious, did it? Believe me, if Publishers Clearinghouse knocked at my door I'd scream so loud I'd shatter windows for miles around. I like money. I like things. I wouldn't say no to more. But I won't say yes to working myself into the ground to get it.

Have a happy Thanksgiving. Send a prayer out for our fellow Americans who no longer have a home, and don't forget a prayer of gratitude on behalf of those of us who still do.

Deb Pascoe of Marquette is a freelance writer and a peer recovery coach for Child and Family Services of the U.P. A former columnist for The Mining Journal, her book, "Life With a View ," a collection of her past columns, is available in area bookstores.