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A Good Day

I don’t often confirm a “good day” unless a number of good things have happened. There needs to be a clear and heavy imbalance in favour of things going right, categorical and undisputed, before any contentment can ensue.

I woke up early, I completed my work to-do list, I exercised, I read a chapter of a book, I helped someone, I ate healthily. A good day.

Sometimes it takes just one thing to go wrong to ruin it. One perceived failure outweighs the unnoticed, taken-for-granted, successes. And if more than one thing goes wrong? Well, that’s nothing short of a disaster.

I woke up late, I didn’t have time to get through my whole to-do list, I’m too lethargic for my usual workout, I can’t concentrate long enough to read more than a page, I didn’t help anyone, I ate junk. A disaster.

Then sometimes I think of people who have died. People I miss. They can’t get past the first three words in the above good day/disaster definitions. They don’t have the opportunity to wake early or late, to get things right or make mistakes. There is nothing for them, they aren’t even a thought to most living people.

A lower threshold for a good day, gratitude for just being alive, breathing in and out, is sometimes required. Opening your eyes and rubbing the sleep away, getting up and making your bed, is enough some days, maybe it’s enough every day.

I woke up. Today was a good day. Memento mori.