Breathe in, breathe out.
Sitting on my couch, my legs crossed, eyes closed, I just breathe.
All of a sudden, I realize that I am alive.
I can't explain the joy I felt.
I am alive.
I am breathing.
I know it may sound obvious to say.
But is it?
In the rush of daily life, too often, I forget the miracle of being alive.
Numbers say that the odds of my existence are infinitely small.
Yet, I am here.
Breathing. Writing.
And you are here.
Breathing. Reading.
Isn't that something worth celebrating?
I remember reading somewhere that birds sing in the morning to tell their mates that they made it through the night—to celebrate that they are still alive.
This morning, I feel like those birds telling the world that I'm very well alive. And that is in itself worth celebrating.
It takes so little to make life a magical adventure.