Nanowrimo is not happening for me this year, but I’m trying to write everyday in November. I’ll be posting fragments of what I write here daily, edited very lightly for clarity and grammar. Here’s post #7.

Our inability to believe that the world is a good place, that people are full of goodness, that life itself is a gratuitously fabulous gift, is not only linked to the ways that the world’s ugliness is rubbed incessantly in our faces, but also in the ways that our over-entitled, overstimulated, overanxious culture keeps us moving so quickly that we never notice the beauty in the particulars of our everyday life.

But every time I turn off my television, pocket my phone, and start paying attention, I notice:

That looking into my child’s eyes, in all his exuberant existence, is like staring into the face of the sun,

That my life is permeated with thousands of small acts of kindness, empathy, and thoughtfulness offered up by the people around me; (even those I don’t lik ethat much),

That there is nothing so spectacular in HD as you can find in a single sunset,

That when I read a book, or watch a show, or listen to music that makes me laugh until I cry, I am reminded somehow a bunch of sonically-created social constructions have a life that doesn’t feel all that unlike my own….

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