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The Greatest Gift Has An Expiration Date
Although we’ve evolved to be permanently wanting more, contentment is a single breath away
Every morning, as consciousness returns in the pre-dawn of a gloomy British November, I think of how wonderfully fortunate I am. The drizzle falling persistently on the rooftop above my head doesn’t touch me and I’m warm and comfortable underneath the inexpensive duvet I bought from Sainsbury’s on the day after my arrival in the UK. My stomach is pleasantly empty and I know there’s plenty of food in the kitchen, some of which will soon be powering me through the morning.
I roll out of bed, thankful for the fact that despite more than sixty years of existence I’m free of the aches and pains so many others report as being a near-constant fact of life. The only aches I occasionally feel are localized muscle soreness the day after a particularly demanding tab or a tougher-than-usual workout, and such soreness is a transient sign that I’m continuing to do what is necessary to be healthy and happy.
When I perform my ablutions, every single morning I am aware of how pleasant it is to do so in comfort and that a single touch of a simple lever will suffice to remove all the evidence. No need to squat in the rain over an open hole which must then be covered with soil, or over a plastic…
