i look at things, objects, faces -- my cat purring in the sunbeam, trees bowing in the wind, the stranger laughing on the train -- and i say to myself, a good thing. a good thing. a good thing. not i am good, or even i take joy in this thing. i understand that joy is fluid and difficult to pin down. i understand i will not always be able to find it. but i know that this -- this good thing -- it exists. there is joy in the world even on the days i cannot feel it for myself. the world is composed of good things. we breathe together.