Riding
home from the city on the train with Delycia, returning from seeing an opera at
Lincoln Center, I’m thinking I should be glad all my days – not glad because
great things are always happening (because they’re not), but glad for the gifts
found, somehow and some way, in each moment. When I feel my life leading me
from one problem to another, I can at least be glad for the gift of the problems,
since problems can shine out like useful lights. In the midst of sorrow, I can at
least be glad that a good breath of air is brought to my lungs each moment, and
that a new morning always follows night. When a day seems more dark than light,
I can at least be glad that I have eyes that can see both the darkness and the little
but beautiful light.
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