Three cheers for bartenders who call me "Sugar."

I am grateful for nights when things go well. When I am performing well. When I am amusing and welcoming to people. When I make a good impression. I realize that I offer my hand to others without hesitating. That I want to help. That I am not at all stingy with my resources, however hard-earned they may be. I always got high marks in sharing.

I am also weighted down by sad loss in my extended family and fear of what the future holds. I catch myself being exra sensitive to the dips and swells in the moods of those I love. I notice even the tough ones giving way, if only at the edges. And I want to be a sandbag to that undamming. I want to lend my support. How to do it, however, eludes me. I am clumsy and coaxing, and I worry that I only say things that will make it all worse. When what I mean to say is, "I'm here. If you need me. Don't worry."

Laughter is a welcome respite from all of that. And letting go of trivia. And paying ever closer attention to the moments when the birds are singing. Even when it's silence that I crave.