It’s so easy to forget how good we have it.
And every now and then, something snaps us out of it. Like watching a man in a Target aisle trying to spray himself with Fabreze without anyone noticing, and realizing he’s homeless, inside from the rain, with no way to clean his clothes.
Or hearing a story of the lifelong guilt carried by a veteran of the Vietnam War whose life was spared by a Vietnamese soldier for a reason he would never know—and could never know—because he reflexively chose to kill that very same man.
Even little tender moments can do it, like how I felt last night when my three-year-old begged me not to have to be alone.
Every now and then, your heart breaks a little for someone else and it snaps you out of that view-of-things that you were unconsciously trapped in. Every now and then you’re graced with a moment of gratitude, a moment where you remember, I actually have it pretty good. It’s easy to feel that way after we get exactly what we want, of course. But the moments are sweeter when they come unexpectedly in the midst of an ordinary or not-so-good view-of-things.
For some reason though, it seems so much easier to go back to forgetting. To take things for granted.
Maybe it’s just how we’re wired or how we’re conditioned. Little organisms built and conditioned to always be on the move, constantly fixated on improving our situation, constantly focused on making ourselves more safe and secure.
But always on the move equates with never satisfied, never arriving. And never satisfied, never arriving, means we’re never really at home.
And that’s what we really want, in the end. To be at home. To be complete.
We can be at home right here.
It’s easy to forget that, too.
But we really can be at home right here.