The idea of “the chosen” has appealed to people for eons, and lately I’ve been thinking that feeling chosen is a possibility for me at every moment. After all, the universe, it could be said, has chosen each particular moment for me to experience in my own special way. The universe, of course, is not a person, but still, in an odd way, it does seem that each moment has been carefully prepared – chosen -- over immeasurable millennia. Right here, right now, both this moment and I have been chosen. We are the special ones, the elite, the privileged, the cream of the crop – and this is true for all of us, and for every occurrence. Every spread of sunlight on lawns on a summer morning is a chosen one – just the right light for that singular moment. Each of the ways winter shows its cold and colors is a selected and preferred one, a chosen souvenir from the universe. I suppose, thinking about all this, that I should feel fairly special each day, each moment. I should probably feel as set apart as someone selected for a place on a podium, or a teacher picked, for some reason, for a special prize – every moment.