Saturday, I received tragic news about a childhood friend. There was a time in the past that we were inseparable. Distanced as we were by miles and time, the news still took my breath away. I was punched in the stomach by the fragility of life. I wondered why I must always wait for a sad surprise to honor that fragility.
In my head I get it that our time here is finite and transitional. Intellectually I understand the importance of being in the moment. Still, living in each individual slice of time and holding it fast to my heart, is an awareness that will quickly slide away with the introduction of a to-do list, or a stack of laundry waiting to be folded. “Real life” shows up and I forget to notice the now and I’m back in the race.
I find myself taking for granted the spaces that make up a day, sometimes even willing the clock to move faster to get me to the finish line. To accept the gift of twenty-four hours I must shift my focus, see each minute as sacred, each action intentional.
I would like to look up and take notice of my time without dissecting it into columns of good and bad; shine an accepting light on all of it. It is easy to hold close the sweetness and joy, listening to my son read, or holding hands with my husband. But just as important, the boring and the monotonous must turn into rituals to be celebrated like candles on a cake. I will brush my hair. I will park the car. I will make coffee. I will open the mail and I will feel gratitude. Each minute is full and valuable. I want to show up for all of that.