Monday, December 03, 2012
There are days when nothing extraordinary happens. No unusual stories to tell. No humorous anecdotes. No great lessons learned. No hardships overcome or obstacles encountered. It was a day, like many others, where I got up, I went to work, and I came home. Unremarkable and forgettable.
On days like today I could complain about my boredom and the utter Monday-ness of my Monday. The gray, dreary weather, and the last week of college classes. I'm weary of the national news cycle that has been fixated on the "fiscal cliff" for what seems like an eternity, and I'm fed up with politics of every flavor.
I could whine. I could complain. I could make up something better so my day appears to have some meat on its bones. But why do that? Why is it so hard to be content with the unremarkable and ordinary? Why does "just another day" feel like a failure?
There are lots and lots of people who would give anything to have an unremarkable and ordinary day. A day without fear and hardships and problems. Without illness or sadness or loss or grief. A day where going to work or to college would be a privilege instead of a punishment, and a cause of celebration rather than a source of obligation.
It's difficult to maintain a healthy sense of appreciation and perspective when you're wandering in the desert of tedium impatiently waiting for something better to come along. So as monotonous Monday slips into Tuesday, I'll not wish for a better day for myself. Excitement will come soon enough. Instead I'll wish for an unremarkable, predictable, ordinary day for all those who would wish for nothing more.