Oliver’s genius is how she holds wonder and sorrow together without forcing a resolution. The morning is fresh, and the world is broken; both clauses stand, linked by the simple fact of “just to be alive.” Rather than denying pain, she implies that awe may be sharpened by vulnerability—beauty felt more intensely because it is not guaranteed.
This stance echoes the kind of attentive gratitude found in many contemplative traditions, where presence is not escape but engagement: you see the world clearly, and you love it anyway, not because it is flawless, but because it is here. [...]
