Why are we always rushing through this moment? Why do we feel the need to get to the next thing? The next task? The next experience?
What if we stopped – okay, what if I stopped – and took in this instant? Because, guess what? Whether or not I did, it’s already gone. And now this one’s gone too. And now this one.
It can be freeing to see this moment as fleeting. It can be freeing and exhilarating and joy-filling and mind-blowing.
It can also be scary.
Because it reminds me – it makes me aware – of how many moments I miss. How many moments I breeze right through.
So many that I’m thinking many, if not most, of my recent posts have been about this very thing.
I see myself sitting next to my daughter as we drove to her Hebrew class, oh so many years ago. The top is down on our convertible. It’s a beautiful, gorgeous, sunny day. And I’m intent on helping her ease up on herself and enjoy herself more.
“What do you notice?” I ask her. “What do you notice right, right now?”
“The breeze on my skin,” she answers.
“The sun on my face.”
“The trees passing us by. The wind blowing through my hair.” (That was when she had long hair.)
“What do I notice?” I ask myself. “What do I notice right, right now?”
“The music playing (as my husband and son make homemade pasta dough, which they’ll stuff with goat cheese and pureed beets later),” I answer. “The feel of my fingers on the keyboard. The pressure I feel to get “stuff” done. The excitement I feel because friends are coming over later to try this homemade pasta.”
This moment is fleeting. It’s the essence of impermanence. Whether it’s good or bad. Tough or easy. Frustrating or fun. It’s here, and then it’s over. Just like that.
This too shall pass. I might as well notice it now. Like the breeze on my daughter’s skin.
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