Children understand something that adults spend their entire lives trying to remember.
They can become fascinated by almost anything.
A ladybird on a leaf.
A puddle after the rain.
The moon following the car home at night.
They ask impossible questions.
Why are we here?
What are stars made of?
Why do birds sing?
They have not yet learned to become bored by miracles.
Then adulthood arrives.
We become busy.
We stop looking up.
We stop asking questions.
We stop noticing.
Being alive quietly becomes normal.
We complain about Mondays.
The weather.
The traffic.
The Wi-Fi being slow for fourteen seconds.
All while sitting on a giant rock spinning through space at 67,000 miles per hour, somehow capable of thinking, laughing, loving, and wondering why the internet isn’t loading fast enough.
It’s absurd when you think about it.
We have become so accustomed to the miracle that we no longer see it.
You have a mind capable of imagining worlds that don’t yet exist.
A heart capable of loving another human being so deeply that their happiness matters as much as your own.
Eyes capable of watching a sunset that no one else in human history will ever see in exactly the same way.
And yet, many people live as though existence itself were an inconvenience.
Which brings us to today’s lesson.
Do not allow familiarity to rob you of wonder.
Stay curious.
Watch the sunrise occasionally.
Stand beneath the stars and remember how astonishing it is that you are here at all.
Laugh loudly.
Ask difficult questions.
Never stop being fascinated by ordinary things.
Because one day, this extraordinary privilege of being alive will quietly come to an end.
Before it does, do not rush through your life waiting for something miraculous to happen.
You are the miraculous thing that happened.
So remain astonished.
That may be one of the wisest ways a person can spend their brief time on Earth.
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