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I am not counting today. As I write this, it’s a drippy, sodden Sunday with nothing much going on and while North Korea hasn’t bombed us to kingdom come yet, there are many, many distressing things — too many to count — going on Out There. But right here, right now, in my tiny corner of the world, it’s raining out and there’s nowhere I have to be, and it’s cozy and snug. So I am not counting.
Words written, pages read; these are some of the things I’m not counting. I am not counting calories in or calories out or grams of anything. I am not counting steps or reps or seconds lapsed during high intensity intervals. I am not counting the number of things I have to get done before I get to do the thing I want to do.
Also not counting: page likes, click throughs, followers, views.
I’m not measuring progress toward goals.
Not counting breaths, or the number of minutes I’ve spent meditating.
Today is unfolding at its own pace, without my wedging tasks into calculated spaces of time. And as far as I can tell, nothing is falling apart and nobody is suffering due to my not counting. Instead there is a certain sense of ease, of roominess in my psyche. Counting, it seems, takes up a lot of space.
I’m not even counting my blessings. I am simply grateful for them.
Tomorrow there will be things to count: minutes until the meeting ends, phone calls I need to make, words in the story I’m preparing to submit. That’s fine, for tomorrow. Today, in all its unremarkable, unrepeatable glory, doesn’t count.
Here’s wishing you countless days of peace and contentment beyond measure.