Windswept Gratitude in Fall

November has always felt like a pause between seasons, the quiet moment after the rush of fall festivals and before the bright chaos of December. It’s a month made for gratitude, for looking around at what remains after the wind has stripped everything bare. But this year, gratitude feels different.

This year, I’ve been standing in the middle of too many storms including caring for/worrying about four elderly parents, managing a full-time job, keeping up with home and marriage, checking in with grown kids, and all the invisible tasks that fill the hours. Somewhere beneath all that, there’s also the writer in me . The writer who has many manuscript deadlines and still dreams of launching a Substack, recording a YouTube channel, connecting more deeply with readers. And yet, every time I take a step toward that dream, resistance whispers:

“Not now.”
“You don’t have time.”
“Who do you think you are to share more of yourself?”

That’s when gratitude becomes complicated. Because when life feels full — sometimes painfully full — it’s hard to be grateful for the winds that never stop blowing. But maybe that’s where windswept gratitude begins. Not in the calm, but in the courage to stand in the wind and say, I’m still here.

The Resistance We All Face

Every creative person knows this feeling, this tug between wanting to grow and wanting to hide. We dream of sharing our work, our voice, our stories… but the moment we stand at that edge, the wind rises. It’s the same wind that carries our fears: of being too much or not enough, of being seen or ignored, of failing publicly or succeeding in ways we don’t feel ready for. But what if we stopped fighting the wind? What if gratitude, especially in seasons of resistance, is not about control but surrender? Not about perfection, but presence?

Gratitude in the Wind

When I remember the parents who still need me, the work that keeps me grounded, the home that shelters love and chaos, I see the raw material of gratitude everywhere. Not tidy or picturesque, but real. Gratitude isn’t a list you write when you have time. It’s a way of seeing. It’s noticing the light through the kitchen window while the laundry piles up. It’s remembering that being needed is, in its own way, a gift.

And maybe the creative life — this fragile, hopeful thing we try to protect — is just another form of gratitude. Writing is how we thank the world for being beautiful and brutal at once. It’s how we hold on to something true while everything else changes. So this November, my gratitude looks windswept: messy, unpolished, and brave enough to begin again.

I’m learning that I don’t need a perfect plan for Substack or YouTube. I just need to show up imperfectly, vulnerably, and honestly. To share stories when I can, and let that be enough. Because gratitude, like creativity, doesn’t need quiet skies. It only needs the courage to face the wind and whisper: thank you anyway.