What will your morning look like a few weeks from today?

I can imagine for those heading back to school, it will involve being awoken by some beeping alarm. Tired and wanting to sleep cozily for just a few more minutes, we may hit snooze once or twice before deciding to finally get up.

Half awake and dreading that 8am class, we stumble over to the bathroom for a splash of water cold on our faces and a refreshing morning brush. 10 minutes to spare- just in time to throw on a t-shirt, running shorts, and slip out the door! Making class on time, there lies another check we can mark off on our list of things to do for the day. Obediently sitting, routinely waiting.

Waiting. That word alone characterizes many school days. Repetitive and packed full with due dates and pop quizzes of the sort, we anticipate the sweet sound of “class dismissed.” Though not all our days feel this way, for nothing is absolute, I still feel like any individual who has been going to school since kindergarten is bound to have days of exhaustion and tiredness. Days where you begin to feel like your stuck in a wad of Double Bubble. At first taste it was sweet but now all flavor has dissipated. Usually that about sums up how each of my semesters go.

Growing weary, daydreaming of the possibilities that lie ahead. We could leave now to embark on some sort of grandiose adventure, whether it is the Himalayas or just sunny California. Destinations shift with the passing days. We anticipate any sort of break or time off school in part because of the resulting sweet freedom.

At some point, though, daydreams led my mind to this place I couldn’t turn back from. I looked down to see my feet, wrapped in socks, which then were blanketed by cozy slippers. I looked up at the ceiling of my room. Full circle, it came.

Here’s the thing, that starving girl in Delhi is also daydreaming. She too lies awake at 3:30 AM, wondering what it must be like in America. She imagines a life without worry of the safety of the water she both bathes in and drinks from. Dreaming of the day she can safely enroll in a school institution, one where she will refuse to endure degrading religious bigotry.

So vividly plagued in her reality is perpetual suffering for her father was killed and her mother is paying that bill, running endless with expense for there lies no income for some female family of three who aren’t quite free.

May our lens defog so that we have clear vision once again, to truth and realization of the overflowing rivers of blessings and goodness that fill our lives. Though suffering shouldn’t be put on a scale of lesser or greater, I still believe perspective is key to everything we do. For if only our perspective on the kind of lives we live here were put in check more often than not, then maybe an ounce of appreciation could be drawn from the menial, everyday tasks. Maybe then we could break through the routine and make it more than just a checklist of things to complete before the setting sun.