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«Miracles do happen. You must believe this. No matter what else you believe about life, you must believe in miracles. Because we are all, every one of us, living on a round rock that spins around and around at almost a quarter of a million miles per hour in an unthinkably vast blackness called space. There is nothing else like us for as far as our telescopic eyes can see. In a universe filled with spinning, barren rocks, frozen gas, ice, dust and radiation, we live on a planet filled with soft, green leaves and salty oceans and honey made from bees, which themselves live within geometrically complex and perfect structures of their own architecture and creation. In our trees are birds whose songs are as complex and nuanced as Beethoven’s greatest sonatas. And despite the wild, endless spinning of our planet and its never-ending orbit around the sun – itself a star on fire – when we pour water into a glass, the water stays in the glass. All of these are miracles.

The gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe is a miracle of stratospheric proportions: That there is such a thing as gum, such at thing as a shoe, such a thing as a human being. I mean, what are the odds? Think of the actual physical elements that compose our bodies: We are 98 percent hydrogen and oxygen and carbon. That’s table sugar. You are made of the same stuff as table sugar. Just a couple of tiny differences here and there and look what happened to the sugar: It can stand upright and send tweets.

Because the sun seems yellow and friendly and we only notice the air when it stinks and we take all of this existing business entirely for granted, it’s easy to forget or not even consider in the first place, not even once, the fact that we exist, that we are a we at all, is the very definition of a miracle. It is simply a miracle that you woke up this morning. And it is a miracle that, in billions of miles filled with blackness and rocks, you were born.”

― Augusten Burroughs, This Is How