#30. A new day

A time for contemplation

It’s been a few months now since routine has settled in once again. Time feels suspended, and each day resembles the one before it, yet so much is happening. So many things I want to hold deep within my memory. I want to cling to this moment, but time doesn’t work that way; it simply slips through my fingers, right before my eyes.

A new day in bloom. This is the only painting I’ve managed to create so far in 2026, made slowly, over a few days, in minutes borrowed here and there. Not rushed, not perfect, but finished. And that feels like something worth celebrating.

I hold life in my arms. I feed it, watch it unfold, evolve, and become something new and extraordinary. I listen to its giggles, mumbles, laughter, and sometimes cries.

It puts everything into perspective: my never-ending (and usually unfinished) to-do lists, my over-the-top ambitious projects…everything. It reminds me of something I’ve known for a long time: life just happens. Whether I sit still or rush around like a busy bee, it keeps moving. It always does.

This time, though, it moves differently. It feels like being a farmer caring for their most precious crops, waking up each day to ensure the conditions are just right. The land prepared, the seeds carefully placed, the water ready to be poured, and a quiet hope that everything will turn out fine. All the while knowing that crops remain vulnerable to forces far beyond the farmer’s control.

Life looks straight into my eyes. Words feel unnecessary. In a simple exchange of glances, we share thoughts and emotions too vast to name.

So much life is happening that I barely find time for myself and my endless existential questions. I’ve hardly written, painted, or played music these past months. It takes me ages to reply to messages. Sometimes I manage to steal a few minutes, sometimes not. Everything feels chaotic, and yet I smile, because I am witnessing the beautiful chaos gifted by life.

Life observes the world with the curiosity I often hear about in my meditations, a beginner’s mind. A way of seeing things as if for the first time. Profound in theory, but so difficult to practice when I so easily take things for granted. And yet, life shows me how much effort it takes to grow, to coordinate movements, to simply be. I feel grateful.

Life feels calm.
Patient.
Sweet.

I sit by the window once again, in the same spot, doing the same things. But the sky is different, new hues, new light. I don’t want to miss a thing. I take countless photos, hoping somehow they will engrave themselves into my memory.

I can’t remember who explained something I once read, something I found painfully sad, yet undeniably true. It said that to love life is to accept that everything we were, are, and will be, everything we own, love, and admire, ourselves included, is meant to disappear one day. I still think about that. It fills me with both sadness and deep appreciation.

There’s nothing I can do about it, except build a moment here, a moment there. A lifetime.

As Voltaire said: il faut cultiver notre jardin (“we must cultivate our garden”).

Life…❤️