I started my day with a meditation from Thich Nhat Hanh. At the very end of it, he says:
“Breathing in, I am aware of the miracle of being alive. Breathing out, I am grateful.”

It was the perfect message to stary my day.

Why? Well, because yesterday was a rather imperfect day. I never quite found my rhythm. I never quite settled into the miracle or allowed the gratitude.

Instead, I found myself caught in a vicious cycle of every type of emotion you could possibly imagine. Happy, sad. Motivated, lethargic. Hopeful, despondent.

Wash.

Rinse.

Repeat.

To say it was all exhausting would be an understatement (and, in hindsight, way more dramatic than I like to live my life).

Finally, at the end of the day, I unbundled the flowers I had purchased two days prior, and made various arrangements large and small in a mismash of vases I had.

It was good therapy.

A good way to end the day.

And then, this morning, Thich Nhat Hanh‘s meditation.

After it ended, I continued to breathe in the miracle of being alive and breathe out the gratitude for being lucky enough to experience it.

And I looked at the flowers I had placed around the house, I listened to the morning music that came on after the meditation and I witnessed the sun rising.

And I thought, you know, he is so right.

Because even in the darkness of night, the cloudiness of an imperfect day.

The colors of the flowers.

Are still there.

The music that connects our indivdual heart beats with the universal beats of all that is.

Is still there.

The sun.

Always.

Is still there.

All of it.

Is there.

All we have to do.

Is look up to see the miracle.

And embody the gratitude.

Breathing in.

Breathing out.

Wash.

Rinse.

Repeat.

The Practice of Being Alive is a collection of stories about getting through this thing called life.