Every hour, every day

My mornings begin the same.

Get up, fix myself some coffee, gaze out the window at the birds at my feeders, watch the sun rise. Here, I know the rain will never fall, but other places I have lived, this has been an option. This is followed by quietly talking with my spouse, my kitties. All of these things root and center me so that no matter what chaos comes that day, it began in beauty. To step out of my house and be greeted by the smell of trees and flowers in bloom. My gosh, the plumeria here ... the scent carries across the yard and greets us the moment we open the door. We have that chance, every morning, to stop - momentarily - to breathe in their scent while listening to birdsong summoning the sunrise.

It’s about pausing. Reflecting. Paying attention. Being present in that moment.

Walt Whitman wrote, “Every hour of every day is an unspeakably perfect miracle.” It’s much easier to see this in nature than with other humans, who are too often irritating and disappointing. Confounding and prickly. It is hard to see this miracle when the news is so often grim with destruction. As I watch the government tearing down institutions I love: libraries and museums, which both show the best of humanity and how it continues to strive towards beauty, to offer creation in the face of destruction.

I cannot control the world. This world that keeps turning.

Yet in silence and beauty and stillness and solitude, I can shape and form my inner world. Through simple, daily rituals that remind me of why I am alive and give me a greater sense of purpose. To be given over to wonder as a way of living.  The tension that we live in every single day. The fragility and brevity of this life - our only life.

Know this: the sun will come up. The sun will go down. Perhaps you can do as I do - do what you can live your best every . single . day.