I always liked the laments in the poem "The Pessimist" that there is "nothing to breathe but air" and "nothing to eat but food". It just tickles me that we don't normally get depressed about breathing the same old mixture of atmosphere while the much rarer displays of reality tv don't appeal to me. That poem ends with the poet's recommendation, from the middle of the 1800's, to use "common sense", an interesting catchall category that my mother and others think they hold in common. Some things seem to be blocked from getting labeled "boring", often things that are necessities and are going to be part of my life as long as it continues.
The more attractive and lively possibility of actively appreciating breathing, of being happy to cook, eat and think didn't emerge for me until I practiced focusing on the present moment. Purposely putting my attention on what I have right now deepens my satisfaction with the whole business of living. Miller puts it like this:
"It always goes, you see, this life of ours. It goes the way it goes, moment after moment. The point is, do we see it without blinding ourselves with our preconceptions and biases? Without rejecting the unexpected or pursuing the ideal? The search for greater meaning robs our life of meaning. The pursuit of higher purpose leaves us purposeless. The world doesn't need another wanderlusting soul seeker. It needs a home maker - me- to make my home within it."
