“So many people sleep through life, hardly aware of what’s happening around them,” said the skeptic.
“Oh yeah?” his friend said. “What is it we’re missing?”
“I didn’t mean you, necessarily,” the skeptic said.
“Granted. I’m still curious. What are all the sleepers missing?”
“The beauty of the sunshine. The worried look in their neighbor’s face that could be partially cured by a smile. The fullness of a deep breath. A lot of simple things that add up to a life.”
“I thought you were a skeptic,” said the friend. “You’re starting to sound like a sentimental poet or a damn fool.”
“I’m skeptical that the sleepers will ever awaken,” the skeptic sighed. “I think all these mesmerized people may move off this mortal coil oblivious to all that not only might have been but actually existed, right before their eyes if they’d only look up for a minute and look around and breathe and touch and hear.”
“A true skeptic would deny any such beauty exists in the first place.”
The skeptic considered this for a moment. The sky was growing less murky as the sun rose behind overcast skies.
“No, I proudly proclaim that huge masses of people will plod through this day completely unaware of what a miracle their life is,” he said. “Maybe ‘realist’ is a better word, but I remain convinced that ‘skeptical’ fits.”
“Whatever,” his friend said, and looked back at his phone. The clouds parted for a brief moment, but only the skeptic saw it.
“There, you see? Even you missed that.”
“If you say so.”