I calculated this when my cousin Kyra celebrated her ten thousand days. Since she is a few months older than me, I knew that my ten thousand days would come soon, and I wanted to figure out when mine would be, because, hey, it sounded fun. And ten thousand days--that's quite the achievement.
My ten thousandth day took place on an ordinary Tuesday. I didn't plan anything as I was swamped (especially on Tuesdays--they are my busiest days of the week). And, to be honest, the Monday before my ten thousandth day was pretty crummy (I got a parking ticket, I had too much work to do, I just wanted to be home for Spring Break, etc., etc., etc.), and I could feel the misery of Monday seeping into my already-crowded Tuesday.
But, that didn't mean I didn't want this ten thousandth day to be special. I did. Kind of in the way that you want your birthdays to be special. But birthdays come every year. Your ten thousandth day? Only once. Ever.
But, day ten thousand was a pretty typical day. The only people who noticed were those I told. And, to be honest, some of the consequences of Monday did seep over to Tuesday. But for some reason, it didn't matter as much as I thought it would . . . perhaps because I noticed it as something more than just an ordinary Tuesday. The air felt different. In any case, I lived a bit more deliberately. I was a bit more aware of how how days can change, how mornings are, indeed, wiser than evenings, how days ebb and flow, how good and bad are interwoven into twenty-four hours.
My ten thousandth day was like most of the days that brought me to day ten thousand.
And it was like most of the days that will lead me into my next ten thousand.
I went to school. I had some interesting conversations, I tried to make some jokes (most of which received courtesy laughs, but hey, I'll take them), I made mistakes, I was awkward, I tried to be kind. It rained for a bit, the sun shone for a bit, the air was fresh, buds on the trees waited to blossom.
It was a day like any other days. But also a day that made me more grateful for the little things (those little things that actually matter so much).
Like taking a walk with a colleague-friend in a cool spring evening, or feeling relief and comfort when you read a new article and realize, "Yes. This is what I want to do. Something like this. There's a place for my work."
It's seeing glimpses of spring on a tree, hearing life around the canal, and tasting change in the night air.
It's crying/laughing with a friend when you've both had rough days.
It's professors who remind you that yes, you are entitled to reach out to [insert your favorite public intellectual's name here].
It's sunshine on your hair and hope filling your chest.
A few weeks ago, my dear friend Hannah sent me a passage from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran:
"Then a woman said,
Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well
from which your laughter rises was
oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper the sorrow
carves into your being,
the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds
your wine the very cup
that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that
soothes your spirit, the
very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous,
look deep into your heart and you shall find
it is only that which has given you sorrow that is
giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful
look again in your heart,
and you shall see that in
truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, 'Joy is
greater than sorrow,'
and others say, 'Nay,
sorrow is the greater.'
But I say unto you,
they are inseparable.
Together they come,
and when one sits alone with you at your board,
remember that the other is asleep upon your bed."
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. [. . .] Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
[your joy is your sorrow unmasked.]
Perhaps that is the lesson of ten thousand days. We ride these ten thousand days and nights, and in the ride we experience joy, sorrow, and everything in between. Opposites come together. There's something beautiful in an ordinary ten thousandth day, since it represents the average of all of those days.
Here's to the next ten thousand.
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