Monday’s Meditation: On A Day Of Thanks
One day you woke up and looked out your window and noticed the view.
One day you used your fingernail to carve out the sleep from your eyes and as you did, an undeniable sense of exhilaration flittered through you.
That morning you saw proof of your wealth all around you. You saw it in the house in which you awoke, in the slippers you wore down to the kitchen, and in the food you had for breakfast. And, you saw it in the clean dishes that needed unloading from the dishwasher, and the floor that needed sweeping, and the laundry that needed folding.
The weather might not even have been anything to write home about that day. You hardly noticed, but you could have sworn it was so bright the light had filled your retinas and stayed there when you blinked.
That day you looked at your life the way a person seeing it for the first time might.
You spoke to your family as if you’d just met them for the first time, which is to say: with patience and courtesy.
One day you understood just how damn lucky you were and how much the world had given you, and you felt compelled to return the favor.
On the way to work, you might have gotten honked at or flicked off by a really bad driver.
But one day—that day—you chuckled in response. That day you felt so very sorry for someone in so much pain or distress.
All that day long, you sent love notes to your friends and family for no reason other than you loved them.
That day you found humor in unlikely situations, found poetry in scheduling appointments, and found yourself practically bowled over at the plenty that was the produce section in the grocery store.
One day you decided your body wasn’t the grossest entity on the planet.
You showed up for yourself and your healthy habits.
One day you saw it as your duty to care well for yourself, because you were your own and you belonged to the world, and the world needed your best.
One glorious day. One entirely ordinary day in some typically dreary month like March or November. One day out of thousands of them. A day that may not have announced itself or arrived with any special pomp or circumstance. A day with no parade.
That day you woke up, used your fingernail to carve the sleep from your eyes, padded softly into the bathroom and–maybe it was as you were washing your face. Or sitting at the office. Or reading to your babies–You had the distinct feeling that you were blessed beyond measure, that your life was a gift from the universe and your living was an acknowledgement of that gift; that there had never been a better, more sparkling time for you to be alive.
And so you bowed your bed ever so slightly, breathed in the stunning composition of your life, and whispered, “thank you,” into the unfettered air.
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