Small Miracles

A question: can the commonplace be miraculous?

Here's what I mean. Tuesday morning, I awoke in a tent in rural Wyoming. We drove across more than a thousand miles of country, and that night I craned my neck upwards to take in the marvels of the architecture of the skyscrapers of downtown Chicago.

On the one hand, it's just a math problem: average 70 m.p.h. over fifteen hours of driving, and you trade Wyoming's Black Hills National Forest for the shores of Lake Michigan. Simple enough.

But on the other hand. I woke up in a tent in rural Wyoming. I went to sleep in a bed on the 30th floor of a hotel surrounded by the lights of the city. The sun rose, the sun set, and everything was different.

To put it another way: if I don't see the world with constant wonder, am I genuinely seeing it?

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