On Little Comforts

I awoke, in the middle of the night, to a tidalwave of stress and change that threatens to overwhelm me. And yet, I am strangely at peace.

Paradox abounds.

I breathe deeply, finding comfort in the littlest of things:

The cold breeze coming through the cracked-open window

The heavy down comforter that I am nestled under, as winter creeps in, signaling the passing of another year.

The sound of the rain on the roof, prompting a knowing smile.

And when it's unbearably close and sticky in the way that only the middle-of-the-night can be; when I can't quite breathe right, I turn and stretch and yawn with that quiet dreamlike grogginess, and make a quiet, simple choice: flip the pillow over.

The cool side of the pillow: One of the world's most perfect gifts. It reminds me that we each do ultimately control our own environments.

When it all seems too damn much: it is, truly, the little things.