Thank You for the Day

It’s now spring, the sun is up, and we have longer days. I think what’s been preventing me from writing for the past couple of months during the winter is the simple fact that it’s really difficult to hold my phone out without my hand freezing up while walking outside—ha ha. Now, maybe I should get back to it.

Start the Day with Gratitude

Thank you for this day. Thank you for the air in my lungs. Thank you for the water in my cup. Thank you for these birds that sing. And thank you for the opportunity to simply catch another sunrise.

Honestly, when I open my eyes, I’m just so eager to go out and play—like a big kid, exploring endlessly. I find that when I wake up in the morning, there are infinite possibilities for the day to begin. Life is a video game, and you can choose your own adventure. Stop letting other people, societal pressures, decide how you should live, what you should do, etc.

This is the day, this is the day, that the Lord has made, that the Lord has made, let us rejoice, let us rejoice, and be glad in him, and be glad in him.

I remember singing this song when I was in Catholic school as a young boy. Honestly, singing just brings so much joy. I think when I start my days now, starting by singing is actually so uplifting. I think it’s similar to laughter—laughter is one of the peak experiences you can have in life. The feeling of bliss, joy, and happiness that emits through laughter is unlike anything else. However, I find the same feeling, the sensation of bliss, through singing.

I miss when I was a little boy, and we would start each day by praying with the Lord’s Prayer. Nowadays, I actually walk on a nature path and start my day by singing this prayer out loud. I then reflect on what I’m most grateful for, catch the sunrise, and then start the day.

Right now, I’m just walking around a beautiful park, listening to the beautiful songs from the birds above, watching the squirrels climb the trees, and feeling the crisp, cool breeze on my skin as I watch the sun peer above the horizon, with a view of the Philadelphia skyline.

I Thrive on the Outskirts, in the Unknown

On the outskirts of the city, I thrive. I love being out here—this big, open park, the endless expanse of the woodlands. Every day, I like to catch the sunset along the river trail, the trail that extends all the way to the forest.

When I was a little boy, I would explore the forest, building teepees with sticks, building bridges with stones, exploring the unknown. Nowadays, I’m here once again. I have returned, a child again, born again.

What Does It Mean to Be Born Again?

I recently met a young Amish man on the river trail with his friend. His friend prompted me with a question:

Have you ever had to tell somebody the truth, but you knew that it would hurt their feelings?

I sat there for a moment, stumped. But upon conversation, we got into a very in-depth discussion—something I very rarely have. They then told me that they were going to the train station to sing songs, so I tagged along.

On the way to the train station, they stopped to chat with a man who seemed very ill, hunched over on a bench, with poor clothing, clearly homeless. They bent down on their knees, put their hands on the man’s back, and said a prayer for him. They got him up, brought him inside, and let him use their phone to make a call to a friend for help.

We then went to the open area of the train station, with its tall ceilings, and began to sing. It was honestly the most random and beautiful thing that I’ve ever experienced in my hometown of Philadelphia.

Just this past weekend, I was invited to a Bible study in Lancaster and spent the afternoon in the basement of an Amish home, singing among a group of Amish youth.

When I tell you, I’ve traveled all over the world and experienced so many different cultures—when you visit Lancaster, it’s like you’re in another world. The people are so pure of heart, so kind. Everybody waves at you and says hello.

When I was in the basement singing with this group of Amish youth for about an hour, I could feel the frequency of the room vibrating. It was so beautiful, and the harmony was so high. I felt like I could touch the sky.

While singing in a group, I felt pure bliss. I feel like this is just something that’s generally missing in modern life in the city—a true sense of community, camaraderie, where you share the same frequency of pure love and joy.

But I can tell you that I found it—on this random Sunday, in an Amish Bible study.

We read a passage from the Bible about Nicodemus, when he encountered Jesus, asking what it means to be born again, as you cannot be born from the womb and crawl back out again.

But one must be born of the Spirit and of the water, Jesus said.

What I’ve thought about is that perhaps to be born of the Spirit is to simply recognize your inner divine qualities, the light that is within. But it’s only through accepting Him that you truly become animated through the Spirit.

For instance, when I was in Catholic school as a young boy, I was baptized as an infant and even received the holy sacrament of confirmation, where you’re supposedly supposed to receive the Holy Spirit.

While I understand the tradition and the religion, I believe that when you’re a child, you truly cannot grasp these concepts, and maybe that isn’t the authentic way to be born again.

Memento Mori

Nowadays, I treat each night like a miniature death, and each morning I’m simply born again.

I’m a child each day, and I’ve been blessed with a creative spirit that carries me out there to photograph every single day, in the spirit of play. I think we shouldn’t take life so seriously and recognize that this world, and everything around us, is kind of a mystery.

When I pray in the morning, I like to remind myself that I’m mortal—that I’m built of flesh, that I cut, bleed, feel lust, sorrow, and grief.

Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

One of the final lines in the Lord’s Prayer reminds us of the power of forgiveness. We have a past, we have a future, but these things are not my concern. When you forgive, forget, and accept the present moment with gratitude, everything is in abundance.

At the end of the day, we are all imperfect. But to hold onto that shame, that fear, and that guilt of our imperfect nature will inevitably make you weak, crush your spirit, and put you in the darkness.

And so I decide to sing—to raise my spirit as high as I possibly can through the act of living for the present moment, making photos, walking, and remaining infinitely curious each day.