Not every meaningful day announces itself as important. Some arrive quietly, like morning dew on leaves, asking nothing but your appreciation.
One such day unfolded for me recently when I decided to spend time with myself. Not scrolling. Not replying. Not being productive. Just being.
In the afternoon, I switched off my phone and stepped outside with a book: A Book of Simple Living by Ruskin Bond. I sat under the shade of a guava tree. The winter sunlight was simmering through its leaves, its warmth gentle rather than harsh. I began reading.
Before long, the serenity wrapped around me like a blanket. There were no notifications tugging at my attention, no background noise competing for my mind. Just stillness, sunlight and soft rustle of leaves overhead. I must have drifted into sleep, because the next thing I remember was waking beneath the faint shade of the guava tree.
I didn’t move for a while. I simply lay there, watching light flicker between the leaves, feeling the kind of peace we rarely allow ourselves to experience anymore.
When I finally woke up, I reached for a guava hanging from a low branch and plucked it. The tree must have felt betrayed by what I did. It offered me shade to sleep and I had taken its fruit in return. I smiled at the idea and silently promised that I’ll make it up to the tree someday.
It was a small, silly thought. But it revealed something bigger. I realized that I was conscious enough to notice the exchange between myself and the world around me. Present enough to feel the gratitude for something as ordinary as a tree.
Earlier in the morning, I meditated in my garden. The air was cool and refreshing. My breathing felt slower, deeper. Afterwards I watered the plants and watched them as they rejoiced in the morning shower. These were not grand or dramatic activities. Nothing “productive” was achieved. And yet, I felt full.
Now, when I think about that day, what stands out is not what I accomplished, but how completely I experienced it. I noticed warmth on my skin. I noticed the flowers blooming. I noticed birdsong. I noticed the quiet satisfaction of caring for something. I noticed my thoughts.
Somewhere along the way, many of us learned to measure a day by how busy and productive it was. A full calendar feels like a full life. But that day taught me a life lesson: a day can be empty of noise and still be rich with meaning.
As the sun began to set that evening, the world felt unhurried. I wished I could live all my days in a similar way- calm, present and aware of the life around me. It almost felt like a dream, too good to be true. But then I realized: A dream perhaps but every reality today was someone’s dream once.
Sometimes, happiness doesn’t come from adding more to our lives, it often arrives when we cut off the external noise, step outside and start noticing the life that flourishes around and within us.
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