Probably, in the past, way back when our daily intention centered on nuts & bolts survival, we didn't worry about how much--or how little--we liked ourselves. We had no access to such luxury, or such anxiety--take your pick. And maybe that was better in some ways, maybe that focus on the primary objective was healthier to the mind, if more dangerous to our longevity.
Of course, I can't say. And, of course, my intention is not to make light of what it takes to survive, but to offer a contrast to what and how we label what's vital, what's important, and what we allow to take up our mental space, day in and day out. Because the truth is, we're lucky. We're lucky that our prime directive isn't primarily to get through a day intact.
But it feels that way sometimes, doesn't it? We FEEL lucky to have survived some days, and no amount of "at least..." will shift that. But on the good days, we see it, don't we? We see the divide, we understand what makes us so lucky to be here, now, in this space. We allow, when not preoccupied with our own mental health and internal baggage, beauty to surprise us and grace to inhabit us. And while we can't bottle that and save it for later (which, I know, would take away from the immediate experience, but still--if only!), we can remember that they exist--the good days. And maybe, just maybe, with time, that makes the bad days that much more manageable.