Some of the best days are the ones we don’t notice because they are so boring that we take them for granted.
The alarm wakes us up and we are able to roll out of bed — bleary-eyed, but seeing. When we stumble down to breakfast, there’s food in our refrigerator. The deep aroma of coffee perks us up; our stomach is strong enough to handle a mug.
Breakfast is a ritual of spiritual proportions. This person enters the room. That person sits down. Bread is broken together. The newspaper unfurls and sections are passed around the table. Sunlight pours through the window.
As the morning rush concludes, people run off in all directions. We forget to say goodbye, so certain we are of returning to each other. The dog howls in indignation, trapped in his crate.
Commuting is its own adventure. The blessing of safe travels goes unappreciated as we plod along in traffic. The car starts and stops at the appropriate time. The bus is warm and cozy. The train sticks to its track.
Employment is a joyous word with its promise of a steady paycheck. Public education is a sweet phrase — other adults dedicating their lives to helping our children.
Physical labor, mental labor, working with our hands or minds — all of it takes energy. On a normal day, energy courses through us and makes all things possible. We walk here to there and our knees don’t grind. Stairs are insignificant. Noon comes and we multitask through lunch. Texting, talking, eating, playing — our stamina is incredible.
One of the most beautiful sights in the world is our own front door. The mess of early evening greets us — backpacks and purses slung on the ground, shoes scattered willy-nilly. A ripped-open packet of hot chocolate lays on the counter a few inches from the trash can. The couch is an explosion of pillows and afghans. Somewhere in the middle is the perfect spot for watching television.
Darkness falls outside, but inside there is warmth and coziness. The dog takes another nap.
Dinner is freezer to table, rather than farm to table, but everyone eats. Nobody is walled off in their room unable to smell food or being nursed back to health with a BRAT diet (bananas, rice, applesauce and toast). There’s no tablecloth or candelabra, but there is intimate conversation. Politics, religion, playground gossip — nothing is off limits. The dinner table is a safe space to grow as a thinker and human being.
The furnace turns on. The night grows colder. A hot shower washes grime away. We hug our loved ones and hurry off to bed, certain that tomorrow will be a repeat of today.
The best days are when we are still innocent enough to make assumptions. Everyone is safe, everyone is healthy and life is so good that it’s boring.
Jennifer Bardsley is author of the books “Genesis Girl” and “Damaged Goods.” Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, on Twitter @jennbardsley or on Facebook as The YA Gal.