Today was one of those days. A day I felt so incredibly lucky to be a human and to know other humans, to have thoughts and to know that I have thoughts, to be alive and to know I'm alive. It's knid of funny, I feel the most alive when I stop to remember that I AM alive. And, once I remember that most important fact, I can revel in it. I can pause to appreciate all of the opportunities that being alive affords me.
Being alive, I can have a story, share my story, and even be a part of someone else's story. This concept of stories is so amazing and lovely to me. It's the primary way we communicate. It's a way of being, the way of life. We are all striving to write our own good stories, and we should feel lucky to edit someone else's by being a part of their story. I like stories because they unite individuals while at the same time uniting the whole world, the entire human race. Even though there are 6 billion plus people in the world, and I will only ever meet a very tiny percentage of them, all 6 billion are a part of my story for the simple fact that because of them, I am not alone; and, together, we shape the human experience, mankind's story. Isn't that amazing? It makes me feel small, yet unstoppable at the same time, as if the common fact that we are all human suddenly makes the world smaller, even though I could never travel every square inch of it or meet all of its people. It makes the world seem closer at hand, it's inhabitants not as complicated or scary.
Being alive, I can appreciate the good, the bad, and the ugly. For example, even though today's sky is overcast and people are hardly smiling and it could to some be considered an ugly day, I find it beautiful. And, I am so glad to be alive to witness this different kind of beauty, the beauty of a world that keeps turning no matter how often it cries, of people taking day one at a time. Even though today can be seen as gloomy, I see it as calm and relaxed, a world and people that are sure of their existence and place in the universe, who take for granted that they are alive. A kind of ignorance with a ghostly beauty, an ignorance not to meant to last.
Being alive, I can value the life of another. Whenever the life flight helicopter passes overhead, I stop to pray. Please. Let this person live. Let them have many years to come. But, if they must leave this world, please let them have at least one more day. Let their family have the chance to say good bye.
It's on days like these that, though I feel my story is happy, I think of those with sad stories, bad stories, and no stories. I can only hope that such stories change for the better. It's a most humbling thought; no matter how dearly I may want to, I can never make everyone's story as happy as mine. But, it never stops me from asking why. Why must we have sad stories? Is it so the rest of us may recognize our happy stories?
It is on days like this that I am glad that whether my story is happy or sad, I have a story I can finish as I please.
nicely and profoundly put. can I now realize, that no matter how sad or upsetting my day may end, I can still choose to rise the next day and start writing (living) it as a good day rather than a continuation of a sad or upsetting day? I think so, but for that matter I could have chosen to accept even my sad or upsetting day as a good day... am I right? after-all, does life not tend to mirror our perception? perceive it as good and to you it is good, perceive it as bad and to you it will be bad.
ReplyDeletechoose to perceive it as a good day... or not, the choice is yours.