It occurred to me: every single experience, every single moment of self-awareness, however banal, tedious or mundane, is irreplaceably precious.
The simple fact of a self-aware existence is in itself so remarkable and so fleeting that almost any moment of it can be cherished for its own sake.
I’m very fortunate. I don’t suffer. I doubt that I have ever truly suffered, whatever my adolescent heart might have felt sometimes, so I can’t say if experiences of suffering can be cherished in this way. Truthfully, I doubt it. I also hope that I never have enough direct evidence to make a strong claim one way or the other.
Notwithstanding that important caveat, by recognizing and appreciating the exquisite and ephemeral impossibility of a self-aware existence, any moment — on the bus, waiting in line, showering — can be remade into a moment of wonder and delight.
All that is required is an awareness attuned to the fact that self-awareness is pretty damned special.