Don't forget the Cheetos

Don’t forget the Cheetos

The statistical probability of any of us being here is overwhelmingly small, so just to get to be here is an amazement. So first and foremost, my cup runneth over to have this life. And then, on top of that, to have lived long enough to finally know and accept who I am, after more than 40 years wandering in the hidden desert. I am beyond grateful for this life.

For the people who did not turn away. For my mom who had nothing but us. For my brother who found the rest of our family and is my one full sibling. For my kids who have taught me so much. For my mother and father-in-law who welcomed a son-in-law with no job and a broken background. And for all of my known and ghost family.

More than anyone else, for my extraordinary partner who shows me that love is real and encourages me to be myself, who shares all of the moments of grief and joy.

For friends. For Toe and Shotsy, for Evan and Lynne, for Karen, and for my improv practice group, that small brave group doing such deep and honest play.

For the essential teachers. For Father Ready who knew I needed the Arts section of the New York Times. For Wilkie who showed me how to see art. For Queen V who had me do couples counseling with God. For improv teachers Keith Johnstone, Matt Smith, Pam Victor, David Razowsky and so many more who dripped with generosity, art, and risk. For the Theatre Department, the home of broken toys where everyone is welcome. To all of you who have helped me become uncool.

For Robin Rauzi who hosts 40 Days which has really been so important, and to this extraordinary group of Dippers for their beautifully crafted words and kindness.

For the Pines, The Fir, Cyprus, and the Cedar, the trees that welcomed me as a toddler and have always been a refuge of peace. To the Pacific Northwest which became my home 47 years ago, to its constantly unfolding beauty particularly from our home in Olympia in the south of the Salish Sea to the EarthSea up north and Guemes Island where the hytte waits with the eagles and the whales for our return.

For all of the less important pleasures: Bushmills Black Bush and any well-crafted IPA. For the wine club at the Grocery Outlet. For good shoes. For Cheetos quick fried to a crackly crunch that you can use as a candle in case of a power outage. For all the universe of sites sounds and experiences that I have yet to discover, for all of these things, and for each of you, my cup runneth over.

— DanielSouthGate