I for sure believe in miracles. For me, a miracle is seeing the world with light in your eyes. It's knowing there's always hope and possibility where none seems to exist. Many people are so closed to miracles that even when one is boldly staring them in the face, they label it coincidence or serendipity. I call it like I see it. And since I have no big confession to make this month (I outdid myself a few months ago by revealing to about eight million Americans that I am perimenopausal), I decided to keep a record of all the miracles I see in my life—a confirmation that something larger than ourselves is at work. I'm thinking of the moment a few months ago, after I'd gone to five different doctors trying to figure out why my heart was palpitating, when I noticed a book by Christiane Northrup, M.D., called The Wisdom of Menopause on my producer's desk. I opened the book to a woman's story on page 456 that was exactly like mine: a miracle. I believe these miracles happen in our lives not just sometimes, but every single day, if we are open to seeing them.
I've learned that every such moment is my opportunity to stop and offer gratitude to the Creator. I say thank you for the chance to roll in the grass with all nine of my dogs at the farm—and thank you for a full Sunday stretched before me with no obligations, no plans, no place to be. I'm grateful for the chance to come back to myself after a week of going, going, going and have time to finally just be...alone. To meditate on the log cabin porch, leaves rustling like water, newborn geese with their mother teaching them to swim in the pond. To feel the joy of this glorious life and have the chance to live it as a free woman. If I know nothing else for sure, I know that the big miracles we're waiting on are happening right in front of us, at every moment, with every breath. Open your eyes and heart and you'll begin to see them.