We will breathe ordinary air, not air laced with nerve gas that will leave us foaming at the mouth,
gasping for otherwise ordinary oxygen.
I get to do ordinary things today. The ordinary early morning wake up, the ordinary retrieval of the newspapers, the ordinary cup of hot tea, the ordinary preparation of coffee for my husband.
I wear the ordinary walking clothes, ready for the ordinary sunrise walk. I begin the ordinary laundry catch-up, the ordinary email clean out. I prepare for the ordinary hours of reading and writing.
I get to do ordinary things today.
No chemical weapons have dropped on my neighborhood.
No bombs randomly blow up buildings as I walk by them, or buses as they go by me.
There’s plenty of ordinary food for ordinary meals. I don’t have to beg or scrounge for a piece of bread or a glass of clean water or a handful of rice.
I get to go to a fund-raising dinner for an agency that works with the homeless and near-homeless to help them find housing and financial stability. I get to eat an ordinary meal with not-so-ordinary friends while we support a talented and tireless staff who fight the ordinary poverty that flourishes in ordinary cities.
Yes, I get to do ordinary things today.
Most of us will. But too many will not. Too many live with the very air around them filled with treacherous possibilities. Too many cringe under a tyrant’s temper tantrums with too many fingers on the buttons of too many ways to kill or maim too many people.
Nope. I’m just lucky. I get to be ordinary today.
I wish everyone could have an ordinary day. For that wish to come true, I have need to leave ordinary behind. That’s what it means to live with the awareness that we are all connected to one another.
When I choose to isolate myself in my ordinary, I have to pretend that no one else counts.
That is the ordinary way. It’s also the way to destruction.
But I admit it: I feel helpless today in my ordinary.