Maybe you were hoping things would dare to go smoothly but the ride, as usual, is bumpy.
Maybe a child is home sick, and while at first this meant an added sweetness to the day, maybe now she is shooting you glaring dirty looks in a showdown over half a cup of herbal tea.
Maybe the toilet overflowed so spectacularly that one child ran away sobbing while the others froze in amazement.
Maybe you have been bumping into too much that you cannot heal, too much you cannot repair, too much you cannot change.
Maybe, though, you are more awake than you have ever been in your life. Maybe there seems to be a direct correlation between life being this messy and your awake-ness.
Maybe life-smooth lends a certain hardness. An expectation of more smooth. And with that expectation a lack of compassion. The bumps and jolts—yes, they leave you battered and weary, damaged sometimes in ways you don’t even understand. But those jolts, the big ones and little ones—they awaken something.
And every day, maybe, you are more awake. Every day the sun rises and sets, always different, always beautiful. Every day you get to try again, to see more, to soften a little.