Something I’ve been thinking about today is the question, “How much of my time do I spend disliking my life?” Not that I have these huge gripes about my life, but I do have plenty of little gripes about it. This hurts; that hurts. This body part is too big; that body part is too small. These people are all right, but those people suck (a lot). This place could be better. I don’t have enough money (but seriously). Granted, this inner dialogue isn’t constant, but it’s there and it’s consistent. That’s the point of the question.

I have a limited about of time here on earth. How much of it do I spend complaining?

For me, answering this question with any significant amount of time is–in a word–regrettable. Because more and more I’m reminded that in order for me to even be here (on the planet), a long line of cosmic happenings and human relationships had to happen first. At some point (in December of 1979) a single sperm had to beat out millions of other sperms in order to connect with a single ovum. Talk about a miracle! What were the chances? Simply put, my life–and all that it encompasses–is a gift. For me to treat any part of it as anything less than sacred is–quite frankly–missing the point.

I’m ALIVE.

This perspective that your individual life is unique, precious, and worthy of the deepest reverence and respect is a game-changer. This afternoon I went to a new doctor’s office, and rather than thinking that this wasn’t good enough and that wasn’t good enough, I was simply grateful for a comfortable place to sit and the smiling face sitting across from me. Later I went out for Vietnamese soup (pho) and stayed for an hour to read. And whereas part of me kept thinking I “should” be doing something else (like, whatever I’m doing right now isn’t good enough), I kept reminding myself that I could just as easily honor this life in this moment. Rather than grousing, I could be grateful. I have food to eat. I have a book to read (and I CAN read). I forgot to make a payment on a credit card, but when I asked, the company reversed the late fee.

I’m okay.

This evening, out of nowhere, I was hit with a feeling of sadness. I have a few theories about why this may be, but chances are it’s because there’s a certain amount of grief to be felt when you truly realize how much of your fine and irreplaceable life has been wasted wishing you were someone other than who you are, living a life other than the one you have. For those who are open to the idea of reincarnation, I’ve heard that in earth years our souls spend about 150 years planning and getting ready for a single (spectacular) lifetime. We don’t just role the dice and show up in Alaska. We pick our ethnicity, our sexuality, our parents (hard to believe, I know). I obviously can’t prove this theory, but it’s one I like because it reminds me to–Stop complaining, Marcus. Being alive is a big deal. Every breath you take is holy.