It’s a word. A great word for everyone except Martin Heidigger. But he had a point.
He called “average everydayness” that thing we do when we slog through days without examining them. Without reflecting on them. Without fully being aware while it flows by.
Other ways to say this would be — “on automatic” “unthinking” “unfeeling” or “plodding”.
I really felt alive today, but I was cheating. It was my first full day without flu, antibiotics or drugs in over a week, during which I caught up on all the sleep I ever missed in my life, except at two in the morning.
So I thought about today and called four friends when I had time holes. I worked on a business Idea while the whole country had a hard time downloading a credit card machine – of which I had three.
But mainly I thought about heroes and heroines. I thought how I used to count missionaries in foreign countries and soldiers and others as my special prayers.
I forgot how courageous Val was fixing breakfast for kids who just spent their first Christmas without their dad.
I overlooked how gutsy the Buchanans and Carpenters are everyday with their special needs sons.
I missed how courageous David was getting up at four to be 90 miles away for an electrician’s job starting at 6:45, when his supervisor dismissed him Sunday morning for being 10 minutes late.
Heidigger probably nailed me. I am really good on the mountaintop, in the hospital waiting room, or crises, major teaching moments and big business deals — but miss calling Jill on the way home for no reason except that she needs to be reminded that one guy thought/thinks she is hot, amazing, intelligent, and capable.
I sigh when I should breathe a miraculous “thanks” or swear when I should focus on doing this better.
Anyway, I cheated, but I had help cheating.
This doe has adopted us. She is a yearling, and the first day we saw her Jill walked within twenty feet and took her picture. She napped in the back yard in broad daylight. She has hung out in the ravine and over by the horse hay while we worked in the guest house or Jill fed horses — and talked to her. And today she just stood in the front yard while I snapped her picture. I know I should post that.
She helped me cheat. This strange miracle juxtaposed in the middle of my dry, dry grass reminded me that grass, or that I own anything in the world are both, well, everyday miracles worth examining. More than examining, worth celebrating in, uh, daily ways.