I cut myself last night. The cover of my razor slipped off as I reached into the drawer, and I lost a small piece from the end of my thumb.

It’s a tiny wound, almost anywhere else on the body, and it would be nothing.

Unfortunately, location matters.

The tip of the thumb on the dominant hand is a focal point of unappreciated significance.

I had trouble writing in my journal this morning. While I struggled through the discomfort, I saw that my pen was covered in blood when I finished.

Things like putting on shoes or doing up the buttons on my pants caught me by surprise.

Pushing the gear shift lever on my bike wasn’t fun, nor was opening a can of beer after the ride.

Texting is almost impossible. I feel like I’m re-learning that skill entirely.

But this is all temporary, the cut is nothing. It’ll be healed in a few days, and everything will be back to normal.

From a place of gratitude, this minor inconvenience has given me an appreciation for something so easily taken for granted.

What is often temporary for some is a lifelong struggle for others.