The Small Joys of Life
Noticing the good that's been here the whole time
There is a sound the kettle makes as the water approaches boiling. A low gathering, almost a hum, before the surface fully breaks.
On most mornings you do not hear it because you are already three steps into the day, checking something or planning something, half-listening to whatever is talking from the other room. But occasionally you stand still long enough to catch it, and for a moment the kitchen is just a kitchen and you are just standing there in it, and the kettle is making its small private noise, and something in you settles.
Then the water boils and you pour and you walk away and the day continues.
But you noticed. And the day, somehow, has a slightly different quality because you noticed.
This kind of moment is rare for almost everyone. There is no failure in that. Something a little ahead of the present or a little behind it almost always feels more urgent than the present itself. There is no shortage of valid reasons to be somewhere other than where you are.
The cost is hard …