"Yellow Rose Begonia" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away." ~Anonymous
This morning, as I sit with my coffee and watch the clouds slowly gather beyond the window, I am reminded of a simple truth I recently encountered:
"We only die once. We live every day."
At first glance, it seems obvious. Of course we die only once. Of course we live every day.
Yet sometimes the most profound wisdom arrives disguised as simplicity.
The cool air drifting through the wee cottage tells me that the heat of the past week is finally loosening its grip. The morning feels refreshed, renewed. Somewhere nearby a bird calls. The fountain burbles its familiar song. On the stereo, the gentle elegance of a harpsichord drifts through the room, each note from John Rutter's Lyric Suite: Chanson falling softly into the stillness.
Nothing extraordinary is happening.
And yet everything is.
How often do we spend our days preparing for life rather than living it?
We tell ourselves that happiness will begin when a problem is solved, when a goal is reached, when circumstances improve, when the world becomes less uncertain. We postpone joy until some imagined future date.
But life is not waiting in the future.
Life is here.
It is the taste of coffee on a cool morning.
It is sunlight when it appears and clouds when they gather.
It is the bloom of a begonia that opens for a few brief weeks and then quietly fades.
It is the phone call from a friend, the wagging tail of a dog, the song of an oriole, the scent of rain on warm earth.
It is this breath.
This moment.
This day.
The truth is that death occupies only a single moment in our story.
Living occupies all the others.
And yet many of us spend precious hours worrying about endings while overlooking the miracle of the pages we are currently writing.
The yellow begonia outside does not bloom forever. Neither does the lilac, the rose, the crabapple, nor the maple leaf in autumn. Their beauty comes precisely because their season is limited.
Perhaps the same is true for us.
The finite nature of our days is not a reason for sadness. It is what makes each day valuable.
The fact that this morning will never come again makes it sacred.
The fact that this cup of coffee can only be enjoyed once makes it precious.
The fact that the people we love are not guaranteed forever is exactly why we should tell them we love them today.
We only die once.
But we are given thousands upon thousands of opportunities to live.
To laugh.
To forgive.
To wonder.
To notice.
To begin again.
As the clouds continue to gather and the music drifts through the wee cottage, I find myself grateful for this ordinary morning.
Not because it is dramatic.
Not because it is perfect.
But because it is here.
And so today, perhaps the invitation is simply this:
Do not wait for life to begin.
It already has.
Take a sip of coffee.
Listen to the music.
Notice the flower.
Feel the cool air.
And embrace this beautiful, fleeting, miraculous day of living.
For we only die once.
But today, once again, we are given the gift of living.
~Wylddane
This morning, as I sit with my coffee and watch the clouds slowly gather beyond the window, I am reminded of a simple truth I recently encountered:
"We only die once. We live every day."
At first glance, it seems obvious. Of course we die only once. Of course we live every day.
Yet sometimes the most profound wisdom arrives disguised as simplicity.
The cool air drifting through the wee cottage tells me that the heat of the past week is finally loosening its grip. The morning feels refreshed, renewed. Somewhere nearby a bird calls. The fountain burbles its familiar song. On the stereo, the gentle elegance of a harpsichord drifts through the room, each note from John Rutter's Lyric Suite: Chanson falling softly into the stillness.
Nothing extraordinary is happening.
And yet everything is.
How often do we spend our days preparing for life rather than living it?
We tell ourselves that happiness will begin when a problem is solved, when a goal is reached, when circumstances improve, when the world becomes less uncertain. We postpone joy until some imagined future date.
But life is not waiting in the future.
Life is here.
It is the taste of coffee on a cool morning.
It is sunlight when it appears and clouds when they gather.
It is the bloom of a begonia that opens for a few brief weeks and then quietly fades.
It is the phone call from a friend, the wagging tail of a dog, the song of an oriole, the scent of rain on warm earth.
It is this breath.
This moment.
This day.
The truth is that death occupies only a single moment in our story.
Living occupies all the others.
And yet many of us spend precious hours worrying about endings while overlooking the miracle of the pages we are currently writing.
The yellow begonia outside does not bloom forever. Neither does the lilac, the rose, the crabapple, nor the maple leaf in autumn. Their beauty comes precisely because their season is limited.
Perhaps the same is true for us.
The finite nature of our days is not a reason for sadness. It is what makes each day valuable.
The fact that this morning will never come again makes it sacred.
The fact that this cup of coffee can only be enjoyed once makes it precious.
The fact that the people we love are not guaranteed forever is exactly why we should tell them we love them today.
We only die once.
But we are given thousands upon thousands of opportunities to live.
To laugh.
To forgive.
To wonder.
To notice.
To begin again.
As the clouds continue to gather and the music drifts through the wee cottage, I find myself grateful for this ordinary morning.
Not because it is dramatic.
Not because it is perfect.
But because it is here.
And so today, perhaps the invitation is simply this:
Do not wait for life to begin.
It already has.
Take a sip of coffee.
Listen to the music.
Notice the flower.
Feel the cool air.
And embrace this beautiful, fleeting, miraculous day of living.
For we only die once.
But today, once again, we are given the gift of living.
~Wylddane
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