Normally I reserve my ‘Thought for the day’ blog post for Thursdays, for no reason other than it has a nice ring to it.  I don’t always make time to write a post on a Thursday though, as it’s *supposed* to be my day off from work.  I get up at my usual 5.30am, orchestrate the morning breakfast / uniform / school run routine and then once the girls are at school I go to yoga, do the mid-week food shopping and then come home to respond to emails, send out resources that I’ve promised to clients, input research results on the database etc…  Then it’s time to collect the girls from school, conduct the evening homework / reading / tea / bath / bedtime routine and cook dinner for my husband and I, by which time the last thing on my mind is writing a blog.

This Thursday was no different and in some ways I find the familiarity and relative quietness of it somewhat soothing and refreshing after Wednesday’s hustle and bustle of commuting to London and the challenges that clients bring me to help them work through.  However, this week I had something that I really wanted to say, so I’ve found it frustrating that I’ve allowed other things to get in the way.  And so Thursday came and went, as did Friday, and I told myself that I couldn’t possibly post a ‘Thought for the day’ blog on a day other than a Thursday, because that would be breaking the rules.

Then I realised it was my own silly rule that I’d be breaking, wrestled with it in my head for ten minutes or so, got over myself, and now here I am.  🙂

Now that the clocks have gone back the sun rises later in the morning and it happens to coincide with my train journey to London on a Wednesday morning.  This Wednesday happened to be a pretty spectacular sunrise – blue sky, dramatic clouds and golden light tinged with a pink glow curling around the edges.  Long shadows stretched across the fields as we sped by and an eerie mist crept slowly through the trees.  My camera wasn’t accessible, so I forfeited capturing it in a photo and watched it eagerly with my eyes instead of from behind the lens, fascinated by how rapidly the light changed and shifted as the sun danced it’s way above the horizon.

As always, the train was packed, people and luggage squashed in to seats amidst heavy coats, umbrellas and laptops.  I glanced around, hoping to catch the eye of someone else bearing witness to this spectacular daily miracle.  What I saw left me stunned.  Every single person in my carriage (and I mean that absolutely literally, because I actually stood up to check) had their heads down: scrolling through their Facebook or Instagram or Twitter feeds; furiously typing away on their tablets; scanning their copy of the Metro newspaper.  Not one was looking out of the window.

I feel inexplicably sad about this.  They missed something wonderful.  I wanted to shake them all one-by-one and press their noses hard against the windows and say “Look!  Look around you!  Look at what you’re missing!”.

We all only get a certain number of sunrises and sunsets, and none of us knows when we’ll have seen our last because quite simply life really is that unpredictable.

The events in Paris last night are proof of that, as are all the other tragedies, big and small, that happen around the globe on a daily basis.  It doesn’t matter whether they are large-scale and horrifying, or more personal and individual losses that we face – they happen.

Sunrises and sunsets have always been magical to me, and they feature regularly on my #projecthappy posts.  It’s only over the last year or so that I’m really beginning to understand why.  I want to see as many of them as I can, and not miss out just because I’m distracting or numbing myself by endlessly scrolling through my newsfeed or feeling the pressure of a deadline or pretending to be interested in what one celebrity said to another.

So next time you find yourself mindlessly scrolling, or getting caught up in a drama that really doesn’t need that much attention paying to it, or stressing over getting a piece of work done, take a moment to look around you and notice how beautiful the world can be.

I’m pretty sure you’ll feel better.