A plain day, fully yours

Messages answered. Dinner eaten. Nothing broke. Nothing sparkled either. Now there's a small, nagging letdown, like the day promised more and never showed. Free was supposed to feel better than fine. The letdown isn't about the day. It's about the size of the day you expected.

The cigarette turned your days into an advent calendar. A little door to look forward to, the same stale treat behind every one. Each door made you want the next. Take the doors away and the day has no peaks. The day didn't get worse. You're seeing the flat stretch that was always under the doors.

An unremarkable day is what a good life mostly looks like. Some effort, some food, a small kindness, tired, then bed. The people you'd call well aren't having a moving experience on a Tuesday afternoon. They're having a Tuesday afternoon. God looked at plain ground and water and called them good. Ordinary was His idea.

Before bed, name three plain things from today that went fine. One good laugh. An easy conversation. A hot shower. Mention one to God, small as it is. That's how an average day gets its color back. Nothing much happened today, and you were free for every minute of it.