Henry David Thoreau said,
“To affect the quality of the day is the highest of the arts.”
Really? Aren’t you exaggerating just a bit, Henry?
Surely, the way I affect or enhance the quality of my days is not a higher art than playing a violin, painting a masterpiece, or writing a work of literature, is it?
On the other hand…
What if I did think of each day as a fresh, new canvas upon which I could create moments, using all of the palette of life at my disposal—my courage, creativity, compassion, sense of humor, and imagination.
What if, day by day, I cultivated the art of living a day—through success and failure, through ups and downs, through tears and laughter.
What if I practiced combining thoughts and words, attitudes and actions to make out of the nitty gritty of each day a kind of celebration and affirmation of this thing we call life.
And, what if I finally arrived at my last day, knowing that through all the messes and magnificence, I had somehow, one day at a time, made of my life a work of art.
Would that not qualify as at least among the highest of the arts?
Can you think of a higher art to practice?