Being aware and appreciative in each moment requires a certain level of intent that I simply don’t have in the morning. Alarms inflict torture. Cold floors on warm feet make me cranky. Let’s not even get into what curly hair looks like after a night of tossing and turning.
As I groggily pushed the blankets back and pushed myself up, I was fully prepared to greet this day with my usual grumpiness.
Then I got into the shower.
I’ve never thought about how good it feels. The hot water poured onto my aching joints and loosened the knots in my shoulders. I took a deep breath of steam and felt the sleepy fog clear. Pouring body wash onto the bright purple pouf, I watched as crystal drops interacted with clean, fresh soap and suds, full of rainbows, formed. Sweet-smelling shampoo and conditioner revived my hair until the next wash, in a few days. I bent and twisted, marveling at the nature of skin; how it protects the organs, how its oils cause water to bead and roll away.
What little, joyous, everyday wonders I miss when I reject the quiet life.
For all posts in the 31 Days in the Quiet series, go here.