Just to be alive
I’m sitting in the chair I sit in every morning. It’s early. I have a dog on my lap so my computer is set off the side, resting on the arm of the chair. I’ll have to adjust things in a bit because turning my head and typing to the side is uncomfortable, but the dog is soft and warm and she’s resting — content and calm. We’re in the midst of a dangerous heat wave where I live, but it’s not unbearable out yet and I can hear the birds chirping in the trees.
Everything in the world feels scary and out of control, but I made coffee this morning and I’m here in the quiet, typing this to you. There are no bombs dropping where I live. I have food and clean water and electricity, and a car I can get into whenever I want to go wherever I want to go. I am white and middle aged and I have no fear of being abducted and deported. I’m thinking about how the lottery of birthplace and race and privilege are too often overlooked as the source of our mis- or good fortune.
I’m thinking about poet Nikita Gill:
Everything is on fire,
but everyone I love is doing beautiful things
and trying to make life worth living,
and I know I don’t have to believe in everything,
but I believe in that.
I don’t have anything particularly insightful to share that might make sense of the world as it is. But I believe in beauty and good people and showing up for each other. I believe in gratitude and pause and awareness. I believe in deep breaths.
And I believe in recognizing each fresh morning for what it is — a serious thing, an opportunity, to try, try, try again.
xo,
Beth
Lots of wisdom this morning! Thank you. Glad you’re back.