Rarely do we awaken bristling with the wellbeing we ought to encase. There are too many distractions. Too many cares. For the number of active disruptions to happiness there are amply copious underlying disturbances.
Our minds are busied.
And a special truth is passed over.
We have privileged lives, to the fact we even exist. This is well besides the desire to consume—to take ‘our share’ of life. (Oh, yes, we’re pretty skilled at that.)
Talk to an infertility doctor sometime about the miracle of life. The obstetrician knows. So does the traffic policeman, the paramedic and the ER nurse. Their nightmares, the voices and faces in the night, bear witness.
Notions of Christmas, vacations, rest, achievement and family (really, the list is endless) confirm for us the reality of unpredictability. Life really is like a box of chocolates. Thanks for that, Forrest Gump.
This is important by nothing less than life is truth; always harder or softer than we expect. Surprises make us cognisant we’re alive. They remind us of our sense for things. However painful or blissful life it is it’s us who live it.
We have our part in history. How amazing is that?
© 2011 S. J. Wickham.
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