I slogged through my morning in a haze. Breakfast, Bible study, car, MARTA, desk breakfast. Like the steps to a dance I’d almost forgotten.
It could have been drudgery, I guess. Maybe it could have felt like that without me being able to control it, or maybe I view things through rose-colored glasses. What I know, for sure, is that my daily routine — particularly after a long-delayed return — does not feel like drudgery.
Okay, of course, some parts of it do. But there are little pieces to cherish shot all through it. Lugging books onto the train. Making calls and getting assignments (although, of course, there’s not much of that this week after Christmas). Making the decision, even when it’s one driven by exhaustion, on what to do after work.
None of it’s exceptional. It’s the opposite, actually. But I don’t hold these moments in my hand, sifting through them like little throwaway jewels, because they’re exceptional. I do that because they’re mine. This is the life I’ve been given.
And I will rejoice in it.