Birthday Presents

On a beach in the south of India, she asked me for shampoo. I walked back into the little hut where we were staying and retrieved what I had left. I brought it back to her. She thanked me in what little English she knew. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of earrings – silly little handmade dangling hoops. She placed them into my hands.

I think I’m pretty easy to shop for. I love anything weird or ridiculous or unique. I love the eccentric. I love the homemade. I love books and journals and anything having to do with literature. People have told me more than once that they’ve walked into a store, looked at something, and thought “that is SO Frankie.”

I love this about myself and about my friends. I love that there are things that are “SO me.” I love that these gifts are a reflection of who I am and how others see me. I love to tear off the wrapping and reveal this mutual understanding. I love that I can be defined in such a way.

But I also think I’m pretty easy to shop for because I’ve never received a gift that I didn’t love. Ever. I’ve never gotten clothing or jewelry that I didn’t happily wear. I’ve never gotten books or journals that I didn’t jump into right away. I’ve never gotten cards or letters that I didn’t plan to keep forever. I’ve never gotten hugs that didn’t mean the entire world. I’ve never been given anything, in all of my 27 years, that I didn’t understand to be an expression of friendship and gratitude and love.

I had over 100 birthday wishes before 9am. I can’t even begin to put that into words. The number continues to climb. At work, I was greeted with cards and cookies and candy and balloons and songs and countless hugs. Each day of my life, I am greeted with love. Today, I was overwhelmed with it.

What more is there?

What more could I ever possibly hope for? What more could I ever hope to have or to be? I am someone who loves. I am someone loved. That is SO Frankie.

I still have those earrings she so tenderly, gratefully, lovingly pressed into my hands. I still think of her whenever I see them, sitting on my dresser, a reflection of who I was and who I continue to become. I see the gift she gave me.

And I see the gifts each of you give me, not just on holidays and birthdays, and not just material things. Every single day of this little life of mine I see your patience and your kindness and your love. I see that you are there. I see that you get me, that you understand me, that you see me. I know that I am the luckiest. All of you have been an important part of my 27 years. My heart is so full of love, of you.

And what more can I possibly say?

But over and over and over again – Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Treasure

I pulled into the driveway and he darted across the yard, his sleek and narrow body bounding through patches of missing grass as though they were stepping stones. I’ll never know how he managed to hold onto it with only his tiny squirrel mouth, but there it was, this one perfect tomato just at the peak of ripeness. It was the color of fiery sunsets, bright reds and oranges and yellows. And the squirrel clung to it as though it were the sun itself, as though it were precious and powerful and at the very center of everything. He ran toward me like a dog playing fetch, a look of discovery and pride on his tiny face, but at the last moment he turned and scurried up the tree. I was glad of this. It was his treasure, not mine.

Sometimes we find beauty in unexpected places. It is my favorite kind of discovery. Sometimes grey days give depth to the colorful details. Sometimes we find a song or an image or a piece of poetry that moves us to our very core. Sometimes we find love and kindness in people we hadn’t even noticed. Sometimes we are wise enough to accept these unlikely gifts.

And sometimes we are wise enough to realize that they are less unlikely than we think, if we’re wiling to pay attention. The thing about treasure is that you have to search for it. You don’t necessarily need to know where it’s located, but you need to know how to find it, how to recognize it when it arrives. You need to be carrying the right tools.

Make sure you can see it. Always keep your eyes and ears and heart open to such possibility. Make sure you can feel it. Always stop, for at least a moment, to breathe and reflect and save it somewhere within. Make sure you have a way to dig for it. Always have a paintbrush or a pen or a camera or a pair of good running shoes, or whatever it is that helps you uncover things inside of you. Make sure you appreciate its value. Always add it to your evolving wealth of happiness. Make sure you share it. Always.

Life, at times, can feel uncertain. Surely storybook pirates sometimes had doubts about finding buried treasure. The X may be illusive. The map isn’t a guarantee. Our maps, our plans, aren’t either. It’s too easy to get lost. It’s too easy to become so fixated on arriving at that X, whatever it may mean to us, that we forget about the journey, about the possibility of all of the other Xs awaiting discovery. There is treasure everywhere.

Consider, for instance, the sleek and narrow squirrel bounding through my yard. Consider the strength of his tiny jaw clinging to his found treasure. Consider his happiness, and the way I mistook it as being singularly his. Consider how it was actually ours. Consider how both of us walked away richer.

Consider the way I am forever bounding through patches of doubt and uncertainty as though they were stepping stones. Consider the way I am forever clinging to the fiery treasure of knowing how to love my life. Consider the way I am forever trying to share that gift.

Then use your tools to find it. Make sure you never stop searching. Always carry with you such eager, wild love.