How an ordinary morning changed everything—and taught me that “special” isn’t something you find. It’s something you live.

The ordinary is always hiding something extraordinary—if you’re willing to look.

I used to think an extraordinary life would announce itself—that one morning I’d wake up and know I’d arrived.  But life doesn’t ring the doorbell.  It whispers.

And if you’re too busy chasing someday, you’ll miss the knock that’s already at your door.

The Morning That Changed Everything

It happened on an ordinary morning in Arizona.

The air was still, my golden retriever asleep at my feet, coffee warm in my hands. Outside, sunlight painted the hills like a slow blessing.

I remember sitting there, pen hovering over a page, realizing how fast life had been moving—how much I’d been missing in the blur.  I had spent decades preparing for a life that had already arrived.  And I was too distracted to notice.

That morning, something inside me shifted.

I stopped asking, “When will life get better?”

And started asking, “What if it already is?”

It wasn’t an epiphany shouted from the heavens. It was a whisper. But it was enough to change everything.

I Started Saying Yes to the Small Things

When I stopped waiting for “big” moments, I began noticing small ones.

The way sunlight hit the edge of my desk.

The laugh of a stranger at the grocery store.

The stillness that comes just before a storm.

Joy doesn’t arrive in grand gestures—it hides in plain sight.

The problem isn’t that life isn’t extraordinary. It’s that we rush past the parts that are.

So I made a quiet rule for myself: say yes to the small things.

Say yes to the walk, even when you’re tired.

Say yes to gratitude before the day earns it.

Say yes to the conversation that might go nowhere—but might mean everything.

Over time, those yeses built a rhythm.

A rhythm of presence.

A rhythm of peace, and in that rhythm, life began to bloom again.

I Learned to Choose Contribution Over Comparison

For too many years, I measured my life by progress. I’d look sideways—at colleagues, friends, people my age—and quietly ask, “Am I ahead?”

But comparison is a thief. It steals joy and disguises it as motivation.

One day, I wrote a question at the top of my journal page that changed everything:

Am I trying to get ahead—or am I trying to make a difference?

When I started choosing the latter, everything softened.

Work became more meaningful.

Success felt lighter.

Even setbacks began to make sense.

I stopped needing to win and started wanting to matter.

When you focus on contribution instead of competition, the world opens up. You stop chasing someone else’s definition of special—and start living your own.

Ironically, the moment I stopped trying to stand out was the moment I began to feel alive.

I Made Wonder a Daily Discipline

We often talk about gratitude, but wonder is its quieter twin.

Gratitude says, “Thank you.”

Wonder whispers, “Wow.”

At some point, I realized wonder isn’t a feeling—it’s a practice.

It’s the decision to see the familiar as if for the first time. To greet life with curiosity instead of control.

So I began practicing wonder. Every day.

When I walked my dogs, I paid attention to how the air changed between morning and dusk.

When I watched people, I noticed how every face carried a story.

When I failed, I looked for what might be growing in the cracks.

And strangely enough, I found beauty where I once saw a burden.

Even in seasons of loss, I sensed meaning unfolding beneath the ache.

The question shifted from “Why is this happening?” to “What might this be teaching me?”

Wonder didn’t erase pain. It reframed it.

The Truth About a “Special” Life

A while back, I wrote a sentence in my journal that I return to often:

An extraordinary life isn’t something you find. It’s something you live—moment by moment, on purpose.

That line became my compass.

Because here’s the truth:

Life isn’t waiting for your next achievement.

It’s waiting on your awareness.

Every day is an invitation. You can drift through half-present—or you can show up fully awake, entirely grateful, fully human.

You can see your morning as routine—or as a miracle in progress.

When Life Doesn’t Feel Special

Let me be honest: I’ve lived seasons when nothing felt beautiful.

When loss hollowed out entire months.

When effort went unnoticed.

When the mirror reflected someone who was tired of trying.

But those hard seasons taught me something no success ever could—

That beauty doesn’t disappear. It waits.

Sometimes it’s buried under fatigue or fear, but it’s there.

And when you start showing up again—writing, walking, serving, loving—it starts to show up too.

What Makes Life Altogether Special

Here’s what I know now:

Life becomes special when you treat it with care and respect.

When you notice, instead of numb.

When you act instead of hesitating.

When you give instead of grasp.

It’s not about perfection—it’s about presence.

The best days of my life weren’t the ones I planned. They were the ones I noticed.

A cup of coffee shared with someone I love.

A handwritten note that outlived me.

The quiet peace of knowing I showed up as myself.

That’s where the magic lives—not in moments that sparkle, but in moments that mean.

The Quiet Challenge

If I could tell my younger self one thing, it would be this:

Stop waiting for permission to live an extraordinary life.

You already have it.

Don’t wait for the promotion, the recognition, the applause, or the perfect moment. Make this moment perfect—by showing up for it. Because the day you stop waiting for life to be extraordinary…

It’s the day it becomes so.