Every morning, I have a transcribing meltdown, followed by a rehashing of my existential crisis. Then I talk myself out of it, take a little breathing break, only to have the same meltdown later in the afternoon.

Every afternoon, my fingers cramp, I wonder when life became so routine, I wonder where all the wonder went and I’m not really sure. I haven’t written a song in so long. Then I look at photos of beautiful places and dream a little about what life could be. No, what life will be.

Every evening, I root my palms and heels down on the mat, I breathe like the ocean and I exist in the moment – no past, no future. And on my mat, I try to keep my heart open; I contemplate the feeling of contentment without expectation, without ambition.

And there it is, in the simplest of places – wonder.

[image credit: neloqua]

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