The Unremarkable Tuesday

I woke up at 7:14, twelve minutes before my alarm. The light was the flat grey of February.

Made coffee. Read for half an hour. Nothing in particular happened.

I used to feel guilty about days like this — days without a story, without a lesson, without a thing to report. Days that would make a bad entry in a journal and a worse post on the internet.

But I am beginning to think that unremarkable Tuesdays are most of what a life is made of. The remarkable ones are the seasoning. You cannot eat seasoning.

There is a kind of peace in a day that does not demand to be remembered. The coffee was good. The book was interesting. The afternoon was long and quiet.

That is the whole story. I am at peace with that.