Recently I read these lines by the witty and wise blogger
Simcha Fisher:
. . . I'm not looking at the road ahead of me.
All I can see is the
road I've left behind,
and while I'm processing this information,
I'm
still hurtling ahead,
driving faster than normal
because I'm anxious and
tense.
Isn't this how it goes? It's just the case that at times we are speeding though our lives, totally consumed with the mess and wreckage behind us-- with an occasional focus on not crashing into our future-- and utterly unaware of the beauty of right here, right now.
Right here.
Right now.
Right here with my two-year-old and three-year-old just out of sight but playing a sweet game in which one is now called "Michael" and the other is now "Sophia."
Right now with my younger teen asleep, literally, at my feet; looking so sweet and childlike because she is, in fact, still a child, something I fail to remember at times.
Right here with the house smelling of eggs and corn tortilla and the breakfast dishes piled in the sink.
Right now with 3 loads of laundry waiting to be completed and a birthday cake yet to be baked.
Right here there is a bird waxing poetic just outside the window where I write; and a cat on this side watching intently and wishing she were out there.
Right now there is room in my heart for my large, loving family and miraculously I am able to hold space for other things too.
Right here on a bright and bloomy spring day that smells of breeze and lilac and sun-warmed dirt.
Right now when I have every single thing I ever dared to dream, and lack for absolutely nothing.
So all that craziness that is behind me is, after all, the pavement on the road that brought me . . .
right . . . here . . . right . . .now.
Ah.
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