I’m making a more deliberate effort to pay attention to my morning first thoughts and first “self-talk” of the day, and it’s been an alarming wake-up call to action, a clear invitation to soften the inner verbal blows I land on my own chin.

I don’t know how common (normal?) this tendency is; perhaps I’m in the small group of folks who awaken to mostly negative thoughts and a short list of self-critical observations, most of which consist of an age-appropriate checklist of what hurts, what aches, what needs to be stretched, and admonishments to exercise more and longer, eat better. You can see how this might not set the best tone for the day ahead. A now-deceased but at the time older relative used to call this her own personal “organ recital”. In my youth, I laughed at her choice of words. I’m not laughing now, and at a loss for a better way to describe it.

But this morning, after a few weeks of mostly nonjudgmental “noticing” what I think and say to myself at the start of each day, I interrupted the monologue with these equally-valid and more encouraging observations:

I can get up and out of bed without assistance.

My sinuses are clear.

Not one of the cats missed its aim in the litter box last night.

I cut an apple for breakfast without injury. I fed myself.

The faucets in the bathtub worked predictably again, and the water was pleasantly warm.

The nine-year-old kitchen remodeling job still looks fresh and cozy. There is simple and edible food in the fridge.

My husband loves me and is faithful still, 26 years and counting. We kissed goodbye this morning and said “I love you” to each other. Again. 26 years and counting.

I have gainful, meaningful work, good health benefits and nurturing relationships with most of my co-workers.

The furnace works. So do the heaters in both of our trucks.

I didn’t back into the used trailer Patrick just bought and parked at the bottom of the driveway.

The full moon shining through the bones of the trees was stunning on my way down the porch steps, and through the bedroom window before I even rubbed the dreams out of my eyes.

No near misses on the commute into the city for work. I wished my fellow drivers a good day doing whatever they needed to do, instead of seeing them all as reckless competition for lane-changing privileges.

Due to a technical glitch, I wasn’t able to get into the office using my key fob, but had a warm vehicle to sit in until help arrived.

My back doesn’t hurt today.

The north wind isn’t harsh and punishing, but crisp and refreshing.

I can still remember the sound of my dad’s laugh, and the shape of my mom’s mouth when she smiled.

I can hear, and see, and food tastes good, and my hands have finally warmed up.

The septic repair wasn’t as extensive as we feared (truly—Feared) it would be.

My socks are dry and clean.

I actually enjoy flossing my teeth.

Thanks to two humble parents, I have lived the bulk of my life in the “it doesn’t take much” column. And while it’s not my call entirely, to describe myself as easy-going, I do check that now and again, and ask for input from those in the Inner Circle whose opinions carry the most weight. So far, they’re on board with my self-assessment and love me enough to tell me when I’ve overstepped the mark. Let’s add that to the list: I have people in my life I can trust to tell me the truth without doing damage.

I have no idea what you’re doing or where you are in your life’s challenges as you read this. I can only hope that your inner dialogue is more kind than critical, more gentle than punitive, and more curious than resigned. Life is challenging enough without our piling on as if we could handle a heavier load, or worse, deserve it.

Leave the judge and jury behind today. They could use a day off. And so could you.