Now
the REST of the week#137
It’s the rest of the week. Where are you right now?
Have you have ever caught a glimpse of the future?
I did once—fleetingly.
It was on a familiar road—the kind you’ve travelled so many times that you have all the landmarks memorized. There was the old farmhouse to the left, the drop in the road, the bridge over the St. Joseph river, and the tree covered hill ascending on the other side.
Approaching the bridge, I looked beyond at another car as it crested the hill and disappeared, and the thought came to me: “that is where I will be in less than a minute—that spot of road is the future and I’m moving towards it—I can see it.”
Words fail me and I am at a loss to tell you how real it felt to me that I was actually seeing the future—that I was approaching a physical spot—that I could see the spot, but was not there yet.
I drove with my eyes fixed on that bit of road and as I arrived and passed over, myself disappearing over the other side of the hill, there was this profound sense of future, present and past all pressed together in one moment.
I haven’t been able to relieve that feeling, but I am writing about it today because in many ways (and much more slowly) I am experiencing the same thing in the journey of my life.
As my parents age, and our children grow up, I have this sense of what’s coming in the future, and how what is happening right now will soon be the past. I’m increasingly aware how the generations come and go—of how we are, in a way, past, present, and future all tangled together.
This past week, I’ve had occasion to reflect on this (hard to articulate) experience in ways that have surprisingly given me joy in what life has for us right now.
Perhaps part of it is finally accepting some of the realities of life here on this earth—acceptance is so much better than avoidance—and such an antidote to anxious thoughts. And with that is the actual experience of being here and now, present to the joys, beauty, and love—experientially.
I am not relying on warm memories to give me joy (although I hold close and relish those memories). Neither am I boosting my mood by hopeful thoughts about the future (although that is fun and sometimes helpful). I am taking what is available right now, here and now. And there is so much available to us.
May you relish the gift of life right where you are, right now. May you rest in the joy and love available to you—right now.
And, as always, may your rest be sweet.
Alicia