“How might the miracle become a source of steadiness amid the unknown? Could staying close to the miracles make it a little easier to also stay close to what I value—to facing and tending to the world, to being who I want to be? Miracle as guide. Miracle as mirror. Miracle as anchor. Miracle as tether. Miracle as map. Miracle as an oracle of remembrance.”
—Lisa Olivera

It is 4:30 AM in Poland on May 13, 2025. I’m awake again due to jet lag. I've been here a few days but haven’t adjusted to the time difference. The feeling of a heavy body and foggy mind is starting to feel normal.

Do I try to go back to sleep? Do I just start my day?

When I can rest from the frustration, I return to what I do every day upon waking: I remind myself of how lucky I am to be alive. I began this practice during COVID, listening daily to meditations by Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzberg. I remember, in the midst of the pandemic's uncertainty, putting on her 13-minute meditation on Insight Timer each morning. It became a ritual I clung to, as if my life depended on it.

She begins each meditation by greeting the day with gratitude and setting an intention to live kindly and with purpose. Recently, I’ve added writing morning reminders in my journal—to be present and to look for the magic in each day.

As someone who prides myself on practicing mindfulness and meditation, I still find myself lost in the motions of the day… because I am also human. Without these reminders, I don’t live life the way I aim to. For me, it’s not about the “shoulds”—it’s because this practice makes life enjoyable.

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To savor the glimmers, as a friend calls them—the magical moments. Or, as Lisa Olivera calls them: the miracles.

Miracles, to her, are not profound events. They are “cat snores. Unexpected rain; unexpected sunshine.” Some would call these the little things—moments we often take for granted or miss altogether. But I’ve begun to see them as some of the most important moments in a day.

I can see and notice the miracle of a tree that provides shade. The rain that can calm some and distress others. The way time can truly heal even the worst heartbreak.

Sure, there are big miracles—the hard-to-explain, synchronic moments that life delivers. And those are worth celebrating.

But right now, I’m focused on:
The conversation with a stranger.
The laughter from voice notes sent by dear friends.
A bird that bops next to me as I sit outside.
The sound of my dog snoring.
The repetitive dream I had again the other night, of being lost in an airport.
The ability to cry after being tearless for days.

The Buddhist teacher Matthew Brensilver talks about turning toward refuge. We often turn toward suffering, problems, what needs fixing, what we’re doing wrong, what needs planning. But why not turn toward refuge? Why not turn toward miracles—the glimmers that each day offers?

After my trip to Poland, I now more deeply understand that it’s a miracle I’m alive. I won’t go into the complexity of being Jewish in the modern world, but it has always been a complicated relationship for me.

Tracing my ancestry unexpectedly shifted my morning gratitude practice into something embodied—into an awareness of my own life as a miracle.

Considering how many times my ancestors were persecuted and killed, the fact that I am here is hard to comprehend.

What do I do with this miracle?

I’ve decided to enjoy it.
To connect.
To learn how to love better.
And to stay close to the magic—
The simple and complex magic of being alive.

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