I didn’t construct the bed I woke up in.

I took no part in sewing the pillows, sheets or blankets wrapped around my body.

Didn’t come up with the design for my jockeys, t-shirt or hair tie.

I did not design, glaze, cast, dry, spray, fire or test the toilet.

I peed.

I did not grow, cut, then grind a tree to create pulp. Nor did I mix pulp in water and chemicals and then bleach the pulp or remove the lignin.

I wiped.

I did not install the plumbing or dig the 300 foot well.

I flushed.

I’ll speed this up. You’ve got the point? There’s so much I didn’t do today. I didn’t grow, pick or grind the coffee beans. I didn’t manufacture the coffee pot, the fridge, the counter tops or sinks. I didn’t put together my truck, or pave the roads.

In fact, I did not participate in the creation of the many objects and materials that served me today.

What I did do, is mindlessly use all of these things without an ounce of gratitude. I was busy feeling anxious and overwhelmed by life. By not feeling like “myself”. By mere survival. By wishing my life were different.

The reality of this grabbed me by the heart.

For years I’ve read about “mindfulness”. I’ve listened to podcasts on how to achieve it. Spent hours meditating.

A scavenger sniffing out morsels to consume, in the hopes they would change me. A caterpillar munching away, getting fat on information to wrap myself in a cocoon, hoping for metamorphosis.

I became a robot forcing myself to think or say “I’m pouring the coffee.” or “I’m wiping my ass.”

Nothing felt authentic. Just failed attempts at “fixing” another fault of mine. I’ve spent my life feeling as if my existence is a mess to be cleaned up.

I’ve let go of trying to get it.

It’s beginning to sink in and I had nothing to do with it.

When truth works it’s way into a pliable heart, you feel the changes on a cellular level. At least I do. I can’t speak for you.