Unremarkable

Today was unremarkable.

Nothing shifted.
Nothing broke.
Nothing dramatically healed.

No big conversations.
No clear answers.
No sudden peace.

Just laundry.
Errands.
A few quiet thoughts that didn’t lead anywhere.

And maybe that’s okay.

Not every day has to carry meaning.
Not every week has to move the story forward.

Some days are just days.

And after the kind of weeks that stretch you thin,
an unremarkable day can feel like mercy.

No fire to put out.
No mountain to climb.
No valley to survive.

Just breath.
Just movement.
Just enough.

There’s something steady about that.
Something grounding.

Maybe not every day is meant to be remembered.
Maybe some are meant to let your nervous system rest.

Today didn’t change anything.

But it also didn’t undo me.

And for now,
that feels like enough.


“But I have calmed and quieted myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.”

— Psalm 131:2 (NIV)