The universe was murmuring to us with its highly pitched voice of an ecstatic blackbird or a wren ready for new day in the open stretch of English suburbs. We could remain antisocial, buried deeply in warm sheets but the waking of a day got us mildly embarrassed knowing the sidewalks were bustling with life. Absolutely content with the choice of scenery we walked to smile hello to the beach and tell her all about our weekend allowing Nadia to run wild and unfocused with me staring unblinkingly at the silver surface seen so many times before. A while ago someone close to me pointed the ridiculousness of feeling ecstatic each time my feet touch the sand, every time long paragraphs reveal the utmost pleasure we find at a simple playground even if I believe these are some of the happiest days of our lives I know I could never live without.
Three years back I was involved in a lot of activities with people with brain injuries and other types of mental disabilities. Whatever my role was, the experience has affected my perception on what we are grateful for and what is taken for granted. I sat shivering and watery-eyed next to the less fortunate ones with the dexterity of my mind required to pick up the pieces as they fall out in anticipation to regain their self-esteem and finding beauty in silent stares at products a human hand could come up with. That's why I've been considering volunteering again, one long breath at a time, one mend of a soul at a stunning view to get my reward in grins, inarticulate sounds in transit to an adequate comprehension. Maybe it's because I'm getting older, softer, teary-eyed on a mention how important it is to preserve the actual moment, make our pasts our allies, neighbours our friends, current views our future nests. I'm lucky to get excited with what's around us, remain wide-eyed on all occasions. If I have no more than a nice beach to offer to my child, my own being, fully mental capable person but of not working vertebrae, I'm asking politely: how is this life worth spending?