I woke up this morning to an intense debate about the state of the world.
Religion had somehow made its way into the conversation too.
I could smell coffee. The dog was barking. Some old Haitian music was playing in the background. A little Coupé Cloué, some Beken.
For a minute, still half asleep, I thought I was back home.
Then I realized I didn’t hear a rooster.
And someone was speaking English.
Definitely not back home.
I stretched languidly and almost jumped out of bed out of habit. Then I remembered.
It’s Saturday.
I don’t have to get out of bed at 7 a.m.
So I stayed there.
The debate continued.
Someone made a point. Someone disagreed. Another person joined in. Then another.
The voices got louder.
The arguments became more passionate.
If you don’t know us, you might think we are fighting.
We are not.
We are just very passionate about our positions.
Everyone has a point to make, and everyone is convinced that their point is the one everyone else needs to hear.
I stayed in bed listening.
And somewhere between the smell of coffee, the dog barking, the music playing and everybody talking over each other, I had this overwhelming feeling of gratitude.
These are the moments.
Nothing extraordinary was happening.
Nobody planned anything.
We weren’t celebrating a birthday or a holiday. Nobody was dressed up. There was no special meal waiting for us.
It was just Saturday morning.
My family was in the other room arguing about the world.
And I was happy.
I thought about how much I love these people.
Not only my family, but the people who are in my life right now.
The people I can call.
The people who call me.
The people I can sit with and talk about absolutely nothing or debate something for two hours.
The people whose presence has become so ordinary that sometimes I forget how extraordinary it is to have them.
I think we spend so much of life waiting for the big moments.
The trip.
The celebration.
The accomplishment.
The thing we have been working toward.
We take pictures of those moments. We remember the dates.
But maybe a good life is also built from mornings like this one.
Coffee brewing somewhere in the house.
A dog who apparently has something important to announce.
Old music playing in the background.
People you love arguing loudly enough to wake you up.
And the luxury of lying there for a few extra minutes because it is Saturday.
I don’t know how many mornings like this we get.
That’s not me trying to be morbid.
It’s just true.
Families change.
People move.
Children grow up.
People get older.
Life takes everyone in different directions.
One day, a house that was loud becomes quiet.
And perhaps that is why, lying there this morning, I didn’t feel annoyed that everybody was already debating the problems of the world before I had even gotten out of bed.
I felt lucky.
Lucky that there are voices in the other room.
Lucky that there is laughter mixed into the arguing.
Lucky that there are people whose opinions irritate me enough for me to argue back.
Lucky to have people I love close enough to disturb my Saturday morning sleep.
Maybe this is what abundance looks like sometimes.
Not having everything you want.
Just realizing, for a moment, how much you already have.
I stayed in bed a little longer and listened.
Someone said something I completely disagreed with.
Well.
That was enough gratitude for one morning.
I got up, washed my face, and went to join the debate.
Until next time,
Jp
