Your ordinary day was once someone’s wish

Have you ever stopped to think how many of your ordinary days were once someone else’s wish?

There are some mornings when I’m lying in bed, negotiating with myself to get up and go to the gym. Maybe I’ll wake up in an hour, maybe I’ll go in the evening, or maybe I’ll just skip today, even though deep down I know there’s no real reason. I’m not sick, and I’m not tired. And it’s usually on those mornings I think about life, purpose, and privileges.

Somehow, those thoughts always lead me back to my father. For years, I watched him wake up at 5 a.m., leave for work by 6, and return late at night. His life was a cycle of duty and responsibility. I used to wonder why he never exercised or took any time for himself. Honestly, I even judged him a little for it.

Only later did I realise he wasn’t neglecting himself. Every hour he had was already given to the wellbeing of our family. He was carrying a load that left no room for choice, so that someone else could have that room. That someone was me.

Today, I stand in a different place. I can choose to exercise, to rest, to try and keep some balance between work and life. I talk about these things as if everyone simply has them. And sometimes I complain about the very things he never had the space to even think about.

I think this is how privileges build over time. People who lived content with the very basics gave the next generation something more: an education, a stable roof, or just the space to dream. I’m sure my father received something like that from those before him too.

Most of us have someone like this in our story.

A parent, a grandparent, someone who worked a little too hard and asked for very little, so our lives could have more room in them. Many of them never had the chance to eat well, think about work-life balance, spend time improving the quality of their thoughts, or speak openly about their mental health. And even when some of them knew these things mattered, they didn’t have the room to do anything about it. They were too busy taking care of everyone else.

We rarely notice it. We just grow up in that room and call it ordinary.

But many of the things we treat as ordinary are, in reality, privileges. A morning we get to plan our own way. A body that moves without pain. Family around the dinner table. Even a good night’s sleep. Someone made these possible.

For a long time, realising this made me feel guilty. Now I see it differently. I don’t think my father worked all those years so I would feel bad about what I have. I think he did it so I could actually live it. To move, to rest, to be present, to have a little more ease than he ever did. Wasting that would be the real ingratitude. Living it fully is how I say thank you.

So on the harder mornings, I try to get up. The choice I have was a gift, and I don’t want to waste it.

Maybe today, take a moment to notice one ordinary thing in your life and ask who made it possible. When we start acknowledging these things, something shifts.

Excuses lose their grip. Gratitude takes its place. Life begins to feel more full.

Originally published on Medium. Read it there (opens in a new tab) →