I strive to take no thing for granted. No matter how mundane, how seemingly routine, how trivial.
I woke up this morning.
I knew where I was.
I was glad to be there. My heart did not race, my mind did not scramble to remember where I had been, what I had done, the day before. The days before. The weeks.
I knew who I was with, and I was glad she was beside me. (If asked, I believe that she would answer that she was glad I was there, too.)
I knew my car was in the garage.
I own a car. A police officer would find nothing remarkable about my car. Nor would a canine police officer.
I own a garage.
My children love me, and their eyes have never looked upon me as I was. Their lives know nothing of where I have been. What I have done. They know of my past only as bits of the mosaic that is my present.
I am not in physical pain.
I am alive. Unshackled by self, the day stretches out in front of me, a blank page for the atlas of my life, upon which I can draw my own path.
So long as I strive to take no thing for granted, this day can be filled with near limitless wonder. For this awareness, and these things, I am grateful.