I've often marvelled at that ineffable feeling of euphoria I feel when I've just watched a particularly inspiring film, read an uplifting novel, or listened to a remarkable sermon or piece of music. Perhaps you have experienced this yourself. For a few minutes following any of the above, I feel like I'm floating a few feet off the ground. The sky seems bluer, the air seems cleaner and life seems altogether more special. And yet, after those first few minutes have passed, I lapse once more into a sort of routine normalcy. I am, for the most part, fully aware of this transition from the lofty to the mundane; and yet I am powerless to stop it. 

What is it that makes us indifferent to the magic of the present moment? All around us are miracles recently performed, wishes that have already come true; people and places and all manner of things that ought to inspire awe and wonder.Why then are we often aware of these only in orchestrated moments of heightened awareness? 

I remember a friend once telling me that when he was preparing to leave a city he had always felt ambivalent towards, he suddenly began to notice the things he would miss when he left. It seems to me that this could just as easily become how life is lived as well; its fleeting, heart-breaking beauty becoming fully apparent only when it's too late to enjoy it. 

Imagine, then. Imagine you could take those beautiful moments, so few and far between now, and stretch them until they're the norm. Imagine if you truly believed, both in yourself and in people around you. Imagine if you thought of each dream as a self-fulfilling prophesy. Imagine if you lived like it could all be gone tomorrow. Try and imagine all that, and then imagine what today would be like. It's worth doing, I think.