I was going skydiving today, but it was cancelled. The weather wasn’t cooperating and it’s the end of the season, so next year spring! I love skydiving around my birthday. But what struck me today is that although I love holidays and events, they do deliver that “somedays are better than others” message that I find uncomfortable.
I think every day is special and unique, and if I’m breathing, another day to celebrate life. I often think that if we focused on that as a baseline then other holidays would be fine, but we wouldn’t live our lives around them. Except we don’t. When I look at the usual workweek, we automatically place importance on Monday, that back to workday, and Wednesday the so called “hump day” that marks the middle of the week, halfway done, and then Friday, hooray! A quick weekend and it starts again.
Something feels strange about that, a sense of conflict and urgency as thought we need to shut down and just survive Mon-Thursday and then start getting excited late Friday. It’s as though we have certain times when we just endure our experiences instead of celebrating them.
Every single day is the first and last of its kind, it won’t repeat. We use our cognitive capabilities to label the days, when in effect, without labels, every day has intrinsic worth as an amount of time. What I aspire to embrace is finding perspectives giving every single day, no matter what I label it, the attention and worth it represents in time. I can’t get it back, my focus of attention and attitude will either place me into the day or observing it from some label. There are no special days, because, if I see them clearly, every single day has value beyond any imagination.
Today is a good day to live, it’s the only day I can experience my life.